#so he can have a home there too if he wants it

[eraserbread]

satoru gets nanami drunk after an especially long mission, and leaves u to deal with his neediness :(( poor baby

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nanami comes back home and you're laying on your side in bed, asleep, but jolted awake at the sound of the distant front door. the nightstand clock tells you it's a few minutes to midnight, and nanami always clocked out at 6.

typically.

he doesn't hesitate finding his way to you, understanding that if you're not waiting up for him, you'd be asleep. and, he was right. except, you're sitting up, blinking sleep away when he pushes open the door.

you can tell he's not all there - it takes him a second to catch his footing and notice you watching him.

"you weren't waitin' for me." he's slurring his words ever so slightly, letting them melt into each other. "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing." you whisper, giving him your sweetest, softest tone. "come on and come to bed, baby." you nod him forward, not like he could see you well with the lights on. you really didn't want to get out of bed - already wrapped nicely in your sleep clothes and content where you are.

seems kento has other ideas. he flicks on the light and leaves you to bear the harshness. you cover a palm over your eyes, hissing under your breath.

"really?" you whine, rubbing the assault from your droopy lids as he walks to the bed.

"somethin' wrong?"

you bite your lip, wanting to tell him to fuck off but extremely wary. you don't think he's been in such a state in... years, now that you're thinking about it.

"you weren't there... so i gotta- i have to take this off all myself."

you squint trying to make out what he's saying, but he's trying to toe off his shoes, stumbling in the process but catching himself pretty quickly. tomorrow, you'd scold him to hell for tracking them into your bedroom. tonight, you don't care. you just want him next to you.

but, it is annoying being woken up and forced to watch kento try and take off his shoes. "just take your shoes off and come to bed."

"did i tell you, that soup you made last night... fantastic." he mutters lazily, slipping into bed with his shoes still on. if he was sober, he'd see your eye twitch manically. he's so fucking stubborn.

but, he's being sweet ...kinda? right now, so you swallow that irritation and lean into him. like always, you start at the button at his neck, flicking it loose and moving down to his tie. it's been loosened already, making it easier to pull and slide off. under your busy fingers, nanami lays back on his propped arm, eyes shut.

so spoiled...

"shoes, ken." you so helpfully, sweetly remind him. to no fucking avail. instead, he leans into your exposed collarbone and starts kissing you. it's a specific kiss - a kiss that means 'this won't end anytime soon'

though you roll your eyes, you let him. your body is so fucking used to this, now, that all it takes is his shaky hand on your thigh to get you going.

and, you're going. you crane your neck for him, swallowing down want as his clumsy lips take to you like a cat drinking milk. he's stuck there -- fixated and happy lapping little love marks into your skin with a hand fiddling at the crotch of his work pants. he's restrained by a belt, two buttons, and a zipper, and his drunken state couldn't fathom undoing it all.

the first moan you give him has him pulling away, blinking up at you with reddened eyes.

so, he looks at you and asks - no, tells you. "help?"

and you fold.

his shoes still on and all, you climb over his lap, scooting down just enough to tug and pull at his belt. you're sitting just under his beaming erection, giving it a little push when you pull open his zipper. under you, he's covering his red face with his hand, moaning from your touch and presence alone. it's obscene - uncharacteristic. you love it.

"so pretty... pretty n soft... pretty, too. can't look at you or I'll wet my pants."

"you're crazy," you mumble, pulling his arm from his face and bringing it to yours to slip his finger between your lips. he gets the hint, taking control of his arm as he strokes over your chin, letting your fingers work your silk shirt away around your back.

he's dragging across the jagged edge of your teeth, pressing into your canines just to feel a bit of pain. if he opened his eyes, he'd short circuit, luckily he opens them as soon as you're dropping your shirt. then, you're showing all of you to all of him, and he can't do anything else but slap another hand over his eyes, whining dejectedly and blushed to the core.

"kento, look at me," you deadpan, tired enough to just roll over and sleep, but intrigued enough to keep pushing him.

"so hot."

you claw at his thick hand, nearly begging for his eyes to take you hostage. "hey."

"please... suck it..." he mutters, then stuffs his teeth with his fist, seething out sharp breaths as your fingertips find his skin just over his waistband. the request takes you back.

"you stopped when we got married... always wanted to ask you why but... please..."

you don't speak, you can feel more wet words on his tongue that you know he wants to say.

"please, baby girl... please, doll... the second I wake up 'm gonna buy you that silver necklace with my initial you've been wantin'... or I've been wantin' for you. just kiss 'm, please. so good..."

you have no idea what's he's going on about, but you like the sound of it. you like the sound of your nicknames twirling off his smooth, drunken tongue. so, you lean down to kiss them away, tasting the tang of drink on his supple skin.

he kisses you back just as eagerly, groping your chest in his hand as if it'd bring him down to earth again.

"i stopped because i don't think i'm very good at it." you laugh, taking it upon yourself to sit up and tug his briefs down past his hips. he's a mess - work clothes falling off the bone and you all over his face. he tastes like your chapstick now, and you catch little kitten licks poking from his lips just to study it.

"just kiss him like you're kissin' me."

then, you grab the base of his flushed cock, and he arches his back, a dramatic, uneasy 'ah-' coming from his throat. that really takes you aback - you've never heard such a noise come from your insanely composed spouse.

"don't... give it pronouns, weirdo."

"well, 's not a she."

and for the first time ever, you find yourself pressing your palm to his lips to shut him up. then, kissing over your knuckles, you watch his striking hazel eyes shiver and fall shut. you're so fucking in love it's crazy.

then you give him what he wants.

even though it feels unfamiliar, you drop your head, fist working his happy, dripping erection into oblivion as he whines and cries for you. it's when your lips kiss over the head, focusing your tongue in the slight dip, he cums. all over your face.

you're definitely taken aback, letting him have his moment, but you're so flushed and kinda agitated, yet always in love with him. he's a shaking, crying mess -- actually, crying tears. it's absurd. you'd remember this moment long after you've died.

even covered in cum, he still pulls you back, attacking your lips in a hot kiss you're not prepared for. seems like that release has him coming back to himself, because the grip he has on the back of your neck is not nice. you wouldn't be surprised, and you wouldn't mind, if you saw a bruise there in the morning.

when he comes to his senses, he pins you down face first into the mattress, kissing all over your neck and back as he fucks you lazily. he's so slow, it's serene. you can feel every dip of his cock, every vein as it drags against your sensitive, spasming walls. you both are so wet, begging for more, begging for each other.

it's how he makes you cum for him, with his sloppy, lazy ass thrusts and the wet kisses he leaves on your stained skin. there's cum drenched in these bedsheets, and if you weren't so fucked out and tired, you'd kick him out and call him inconsiderate.

tonight, you don't care. you fall asleep tucked under your man, barely able to breathe, let alone move. he'd suffocate you, at this rate.

but,

you don't care...

read part 2? <3

[ari-ana-bel-la]

omg can you write one for Lewis where he makes a special helmet with some of the drawings his daughter has made for him, his helmet ends up having stars rainbows etc

A Helmet full of Art

The moment Lewis became a father, he knew nothing would ever matter more to him than his little girl, Yn. At just three years old, she had already captured his entire heart, filling his life with laughter, tiny hugs, and endless chatter about her favorite things. She was a bright little spark—curious, loving, and always eager to create something new.

And lately, that "something new" had been drawings.

Lewis had first noticed it when Yn would sit at the coffee table, her tiny tongue sticking out in concentration as she held a crayon in her chubby hands, dragging colors across the page with uncontainable enthusiasm. At first, her drawings were just a mix of squiggles and chaotic rainbows, but over time, they started to resemble actual things—flowers, cats, and even an attempt at drawing both of them together.

"Look, Daddy!" she'd exclaim every time she finished. "This one’s you and me!"

And every single time, Lewis' heart melted.

He was the kind of father who supported Yn in anything she wanted to do. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted to be an astronaut, he’d find her a tiny space suit. If she wanted to become a ballerina, he’d be at every recital. So when he saw how much she adored drawing, he went all in—buying her the best colored pencils, sketchbooks, and even a little artist’s apron.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much her drawings would come to mean to him. He kept every single one. The rainbow she had drawn with colors that didn’t quite follow the traditional order. The cat that had oddly shaped whiskers but still looked adorable. The one of them together, with his curly hair drawn way too big and Yn’s little stick-figure self holding his hand. The flowers and bees that she had proudly declared were for him because "you like flowers, Daddy!"

So when the time came for his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis wanted his helmet to be special.

And there was only one thing that felt right.

The paddock was buzzing with anticipation. It was Lewis’ first home race wearing Ferrari red, and everyone knew he’d do something big. But no one expected what he revealed when he stepped into the garage on Friday.

"Alright, guys," Lewis said, grinning as he pulled the cover off his new helmet. "Meet my new favorite helmet ever."

The garage fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Oh my god," Charles breathed out, stepping closer. "Are these… Yn’s drawings?"

Lewis beamed. "Yep."

The helmet was a masterpiece. Instead of his usual bright yellow, it was now a canvas filled with his daughter’s art. Her rainbow stretched across the top, her wobbly cat drawing sat proudly on one side, the flowers and bees covered another part, and right at the back, a big, bold drawing of them together. It was messy, colorful, and absolutely perfect.

"You actually put them on your helmet," Carlos said, grinning. "Man, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

"She loves drawing," Lewis explained, running his fingers over the helmet. "And I love everything she makes. I wanted her to be part of this weekend somehow, and this felt right."

Oscar, who had just arrived, let out a low whistle. "This might be the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in F1."

Pierre nudged Max. "Admit it, even you think this is cute."

Max rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah, it's cute. Not as cute as my cats, though."

Lando burst out laughing. "I swear, you and your cats—"

"But seriously," George interrupted, shaking his head in admiration. "This is incredible, mate. I bet Yn’s gonna freak out when she sees it."

"She hasn't seen it yet," Lewis admitted. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

And oh, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

Later that afternoon, after all the practice sessions, Lewis finally had time to call home. He was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, holding his phone in his hands, waiting for the call to connect.

The moment the screen lit up, Yn’s bright little face appeared, her curls bouncing as she gasped.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Hi hi hi!"

"Hey, baby," Lewis grinned. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

Yn's eyes widened. "A 'prise? For me?"

Lewis laughed, turning his phone camera around to show his helmet. "Look at this, baby. Do you recognize these drawings?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, an excited shriek.

"THAT’S MINE! THAT’S MY DRAWINGS!" Yn shouted, practically bouncing. "Daddy, you put them on your hat!"

"Helmet, baby," Lewis chuckled, his heart swelling at her excitement. "But yeah, I did! Now, when I race this weekend, I’ll have you with me."

Yn clapped her hands together, eyes shining. "I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it!"

On the other side of the call, Yn’s grandmother laughed. "Lewis, you’ve just made her entire year."

"That was the plan," he said, winking.

Yn leaned close to the camera, her tiny hands gripping the screen. "Win with my pictures, Daddy!"

Lewis smiled softly. "I’ll try my best, baby girl. Just for you."

When Lewis walked into the paddock on Saturday with his helmet under his arm, the cameras instantly caught sight of it. And within minutes, social media exploded.

@F1: Lewis Hamilton’s helmet this weekend is covered in his 3-year-old daughter’s drawings, and we’re not crying, you are.

@SkySportsF1: Lewis dedicates his home race helmet to his daughter Yn, featuring her personal artwork. A touching tribute from the seven-time champion.

The media went crazy over it. Every journalist wanted to ask about it, every interview started with the same question:

"Tell us about your helmet this weekend, Lewis."

And every time, Lewis proudly explained.

"Yn loves drawing, and I love everything she makes," he said during a press conference. "I wanted to do something special for my first home race with Ferrari, and there was nothing more special than this. It’s my way of carrying her with me on track."

The fans adored it. In the grandstands, they held up signs with her drawings, and Ferrari even arranged for a little sketchbook to be placed in the garage for Yn to "design" future helmets.

By Sunday, it wasn’t just a helmet—it was a symbol of love.

As Lewis strapped himself into the car, he ran a hand over his helmet one last time.

"For you, baby girl," he murmured.

And then, with the whole world watching, he raced.

He raced with his daughter’s rainbow on his head, with her flowers and bees bringing color to the Ferrari red, with her little cat keeping him company through every turn.

And when he crossed the finish line in P1, the first thing he did after climbing out of the car was point to his helmet.

That night, when he called home again, Yn’s excited squeal nearly burst his eardrums.

"You did it, Daddy! My pictures won!"

Lewis laughed, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah, baby. We did it together."

And as far as he was concerned, that made this the most special win of his career.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[mina-org]

simon can't believe how far hes fallen.

Lurking outside high street underwear shops, stealing your phone, worst of all? He’s sipping tea in an overpriced coffee shop, you used to always want to meet him in the place opposite but he didn’t fancy a public indecency charge so he’d let you sit there for while, order drinks for the two of you and wait, when his tea turned told and yours had been drank you usually got a text saying to come over, he didn’t feel like going into town.

Your not even with him explaining that matcha is actually really good and he should try it, no your fawning over johnny and he’s watching his bird. He hopes this is rock bottom but he feels like it’s not.

"lass if I dinnae know better, I'd think ya' was avoiding me" his playful tone doesnt hide the hurt, he wants you to feel bad for ghosting him, and you do. Johnnys never been mean. Never mistreated you, why are you punishing him for Simon’s mistakes?

"im sorry, I know you and simon are close but he really did number on me and I just, I just don't wanna risk bumping into him." he can praticularly smell the the anxiety coming off you.

"Aye he’s been going mad, wants his wee bird back." Johnny says feigning sadness for his mate. in honestly Johnny was enjoying it, you were talking to him, looking at him, while simon gawked at you two from across the road.

you laugh, "no he wants a warm hole." you blurt out, causing Johnny to laugh, he expecting you to cry or something but not be that blunt.

“Lass hes just nae used to-” johnny tries to defend him but you cut him off, frustrated, you were what? a decade younger and knew how to treat people well.

“Used to what? He’s 40.” You snap back, Simon was old enough to know better.

“He’s nae 40 yet hen, and he’s not used to tiptoeing, ya know?” He laughs at you adding years to him, he’s sure Simon is seething but he can’t quite make out his expression

“Tiptoeing?” You question. You can accuse Simon of a lot of stuff but tiptoeing? Not fucking one of them, if stomping on people was an Olympic sport he’d be bringing home a gold medal.

“Yeah like your so sensitive lass and he’s nae really used to it.” Johnny says simply and when your face drops he knows his choice of words could maybe use some work especially when you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

Johnny cant help himself. he can see simon through the window, sipping on his tea as he watches this little pre date. So he calls him up, simon was saying earlier he misses that pretty voice well he actually complained about how much you used to talk at him and how the peace and quiet was actually nice.

However Johnnys an expert in simonisms and that means he miss you and wants you to come back to him, he gets the same treatment, they all do. telling him to be quiet.

when you rejoin the table his phone is face or screen down, speaker pointing towards you, next to a another drink for you.

How sweet of him:)

"had to keep ya here somehow," he explained as he asked how you were doing, you had left the flat so defeated. He hated to see a pretty girl so sad.

his eyes seemingly look pass you though, getting lost out the window. Usually he was attentive maybe he didn’t want to slag off Simon, but he keeps pushing, asking how you’re feeling, what you’ve been doing and though his eyes drift back to the window but you can ignore it, for now.

"I don't know,“ you stare into the drink you stir it, the ice clinking against the glass. “It just hurt and I feel so stupid.” It’s practically a whisper, you look like a kicked puppy and Johnny, Johnny’s staring out the window with a smirk on his face. Does he find it funny? Is he gonna tell Simon? Why would you slag off Simon to his best mate?

Anxiety starts to bubble, and you just wanna leave before you embarrass yourself anymore.

Your gaze follows his out the window, now you don’t have binoculars but that looks a little like Simon, weird. It would look too weird if you were to pull out your phone and zoom in with the camera. You start to feel for your phone but it’s not in your pocket, you must’ve slipped it into one of the bags.

“Johnny do you have the time?” You ask softly and before he can react, you’re flipping over his phone and greeted by Simon’s caller ID. What the fuck?

“Johnny what the fuck? “

“Lass-“ johnny doesn’t have time to concoct a lie, your up and glaring down at him, he’d never seen you angry but it was hot, he just wished it was in different, more come backable circumstances.

“No johnny what the fuck, has Simon been on the phone this entire time?” Your voice cracks and your lips tremble, embarrassed you opened up to him, Simon’s best fucking mate, embarrassed Simon knew how much he hurt

“No I don’t give a shit Simon can go fuck himself and so can you” you cut him off again, he can choke on whatever he was gonna say.

Before johnny can ask for his coffee in a to go cup you’re out the door, rushing home, tears stinging at your eyes once again. You just want to sprint home once you hear johnny belt out your name and you speed up, darting down an alleyway.

You wipe your tears before colliding into a wall you swore wasn’t there on the walk into town, a fleshy, human wall.

Its Simon.

Once again! How perfect .

part one- part two

taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457 @gh0st-spid3r @sweetlittleblackrose @aceywaycy @mooievis @theadultoedge @cheese-pull @imtherain

[plethorawrites]

(A/N I am less stressed now that exams are slowing down, but I am still wonderfully sick, which sucks.)

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Imagine Jason Todd saves his significant other as Red Hood during some citywide crisis that has the entire family present and they all just stand there, super confused.

Yeah, the whole city is going up in flames and that sucks but there's something slightly more important witnessing Jason pull you out of the fire and gently pat the flames out of your shirt before wiping the soot off your face to make sure you weren't burned anywhere.

And there's something oddly intimate about the way this *random* civilian is holding onto him a little too tightly for a little too long after he puts you down but they can't exactly question it because what would they say?

Plenty of civilians get attached to their vigilante personas, especially if they're being saved. Some even become freakily obsessed. Which is why Bruce wants to remind Jason that they have rules about what is and isn't an acceptable way to interact with civilians, but he doesn't, because he's too busy talking to Oracle while watching out of the corner of his eye as Jason says your name sweetly to calm you down and gets you to take a few deep breaths.

But watching you squeeze Jason's arm in a reassuring way before promising you're alright and rushing home to where it's much safer, he absolutely makes a mental note to give his son a lecture about getting too friendly with the people he saves later.

He just has to put that on the back burner until after the city is no longer literally on fire.

You, meanwhile, head home to your shared apartment and lock the door, flipping on the news and waiting patiently for Jason to come home so you can tend to his wounds while he panics about your safety even though the fire barely scorched your clothes.

[yanderedrabbles]

This is a thought I’ve had ever since i read your yandere outlaws story: what if you (try to) run away with one of the outlaws…could you even do that…. Would the poor guy even survive if you two get caught

Which of the yandere outlaws would run away with you?

CW: noncon, violence, knife play

You can't exactly ask the boss to run away with you. He's got responsibilities, authority. His men rely on him. If he wasn't the boss though? Yeah, in that case his loyalty would stretch very far at all.

The gunslingers absolutely would. But is it really a good idea? Without the boss around, there's no one keeping them in check. How much tighter will their grip be, with no one to scold them for the bruises?

They're the type to make you earn their help, and then force you to keep paying off that favour for the rest of your life.

"Mighty dangerous thing you're askin' pretty."

"How you gonna compensate us for our trouble?"

The wrangler absolutely wouldn't. Which is a real pity, since he's probably the only one with the skills to evade tracking. But he's also loyal to a fault.

"I wish I could beauty, but there are some debts that can never be repaid."

The kid, hmm. Yes. Maybe. It depends on how much time they give him. The outlaws know he's still soft, so I don't think they'll leave him alone with you for too long. He's young and guilty. You can definitely manipulate him.

"I'll...I'll do it. Just don't tell anyone, 'kay?"

The second in command, the man who claims to love you. You'd think all it would take is batting your pretty eyes and asking him to take you away from all this. And you'd be partly right. If it was any other gang, he'd be gone with you by morning.

But despite all their flaws, these outlaws are his brothers. He owes the boss his loyalty.

He's also a practical man. He knows it will be considered a betrayal. And the boss isn't one to let that slide. Even if he did make it out with you, he'd spend his whole life looking over his shoulder. And what kind of life is that?

"No. You belong here. Nowhere else."

But let's ignore all of that and assume you do manage to run away. How will the outlaws react to you and the traitor?

The boss will shoot them. It doesn't matter who. And then he'll bend you over the nearest thing and fuck some sense into you. Rough this time. Not holding back. You've proven kindness is wasted on you. Anal probably, dry and unprepped.

You realise for the first time exactly how thin his patience is. How cold and terrifying his anger. He'll be clipped and curt the entire time. "Move it." "C'mere." "Suck it." No sweet pet names this time, no treating you like his little girl. You want that softness? You're going to have to earn it back.

The gunslingers will make a game of it. Say whoever finds you gets to have you all week. They'll kill the traitor slow. Maybe leave him out for the ants and coyotes. And then they'll tell the boss you need to be punished.

They're the kind of bastards who'll slap a knife against your pussy just to see you shiver, scrape the tip against your inner thighs. Never drawing blood but always getting oh so close. 

Double penetration too, until you're too cock drunk and hurt to even think about running.

The wrangler is the one who can track you down the fastest and also the first one to figure out if you're plotting something. He won't tell the others. He'll just follow you and come out of the dark like a ghost. Shotgun levelled right at your heart. He won't kill the traitor, but the cold glint in his eyes shows you exactly how close he is to doing it.

When he gets you home, he'll make you sleep in his bed. So if anyone mentions your absence, he can say you were with him.

He won't be angry with you. Instead, he'll just hold you. His chin on the crown of your head as you sob into his chest.

"I'm sorry beauty. But there really is no way out. Wherever you run, I will always find you."

If it's the boy who finds you, it's a toss up. He might let you go, might remember how much you cried that first day. He might still be a good person at heart.

Or, he might see this as his opportunity to finally earn the rest of your body. That's what the gunslingers said, remember? If he wants to fuck you, he needs to earn it. And what better way than to bring you home?

The second in command almost never gets angry, but this time? He doesn't even bother with a gun. He kills the traitor with a knife. Rips his throat out and leaves him to bleed out on the desert sand.

He's explosive. Grabs you by the jaw and throws you against the wall. Kisses you before you can fall, ripping your clothes off with one hand. He's the worst of them all when it comes down to it. His anger making him twice as cruel and thrice as callous.

He fucks you with the other man's blood still splattered across his face.

"You wanna be like that? Don't like it when I'm nice? Fine."

He'll fuck you dry, his hand around your throat the entire time. His lips just the tiniest bit away from yours, just watching the fear and the tears. Revelling in them. When you're done, he shoves you down on the bed.

"Open your fucking mouth."

He'll make you suck the blood and come off his cock, pulling your hair so hard it gives you a migraine.

He'll grab your jaw so hard the bones ache, and yank you up to his lips.

"I'll fucking kill you next time."

You believe him. 

[harmonyrae]

Crimson Ice

Synopsis: Zayne is the most self-less, kindhearted person you know. He remembers everything you like and is very aware of your needs. He's done his research and has encouraged you to consider his offer. And tonight, you are more than ready, but there's one thing you need to do first.

Content Warnings: SO FLUFFY but then steamy, explicit language & sexual content, mentions of menstrual cycle, feminine products, blood/bleeding, fingering, oral (m&f receiving) & yes oral while on period so blood near mouth (I researched it don't worry), needy Zayne, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 5k  

You lean against the counter and close your eyes, letting the steam from the tea kettle warm your face. The phone barely rings twice before Zayne picks up. 

“Everything okay, my love? I just got off work.”

The butterflies in your stomach swirl when you hear him use that name. You giggle to yourself and try to ignore how the butterflies turn to fireworks.

“I was wondering if you could stop at the store for something?”

“What do you need?”

You’re glad he can’t see how you’re blushing. It’s not that you’re embarrassed, you’re just not sure you’ll ever get used to talking about your period so openly with him. 

“Can you pick up some pads for me?”

You hear the door to his car close and assume the Bluetooth is connected. His voice sounds far away when he speaks again, you can tell you’re on speaker phone.

“The same kind I’ve gotten for you before? Or something else?”

You hesitate for a moment and wait until you hear him driving to speak again. You didn’t need anyone in the parking garage to overhear your pad preferences. You’re about to speak when you hear a faint chirp.

“I’ve taken you off speaker phone.”

You laugh softly, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Thank you… Yeah, the same ones. I should have picked up more yesterday.”

“So the tracker app I recommended was accurate then?”

“Yes… it was. I don’t know how, but it’s strangely accurate with the predictions. It sent me a message yesterday to make sure I was prepared and I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Well now you know for next month. Did you need anything else? I can pick up dinner?”

Your stomach growls, how long has it been since you ate something? The nausea is always bad on day one, so you’ve barely eaten. Now that the sun was setting, you were ravenous. Instantly, the image of a massive burger comes to mind. Followed by a milkshake. 

“Is that burger place you took me to still open? The one with the really weird milkshake options?”

“Yes, last I checked it is still open. Do you want a cheeseburger?”

You turn off the stove and move the kettle to the counter. You struggle to open the honey jar with one hand and drizzle honey on the bottom of your mug. Your grunts of frustration echo through the phone. You hear Zayne’s low chuckle. 

“You know you can put me on speaker, right?” 

You scoff and close the honey jar loudly. You drop the tea bag into the mug and pour the steaming water on top of it.

“I had it handled…” 

“I’ll get you what you ordered last time, with the extra crispy fries and a… carrot cake milkshake?”

The disgust in his tone is evident and you cover your mouth to stifle your laugh. He’s being so sweet… Of course he remembers what kind of pads you use and what you ordered. He always remembers. Your heart pounds and you just want to grab him and kiss him…

“Darling?”

Zayne’s voice cuts through your fantasy and you nearly drop your phone. You sigh and slide onto the bar stool, resting your head on your hand as you wait for your tea to cool. 

“Yes, that sounds perfect. I’m really hungry…”

“Have you been nauseous today? Did you drink some ginger tea?”

You stir the tea in front of you. The strong scent of ginger is almost too much, but it has helped calm your stomach all day.

“Drinking some now. I’ve had a few cups actually.”

“Good, I hope it helped. I’ll be home soon.”

You hang up and sip your tea. When you woke up this morning you knew something was off, you usually don’t have cramps when you start your period so you were confused with your stomach ache. Usually back pain makes you double over, but this month mother nature graced you with something new. When the familiar nausea hit you, you rushed to the bathroom and sure enough.

You were looking forward to a relaxing weekend with Zayne, but he had been called in for an emergency surgery and now your period… You scroll through your phone until you find the checklist you made for this weekend. Shopping for the hospital’s charity gala would have to wait, you were too bloated to find the right dress. Organizing the attic was definitely not happening, you were not risking inhaling dust and sneezing. Baking cookies for the Hunters of Tomorrow… you’d eat all of them and spend the next three days feeling guilty and sick. You take your mug to the sink and quickly wash it, setting it on the rack to dry. You shuffle to the living room and flop down on the couch. 

The next thing you know, the front door is opening, you didn’t know when you fell asleep but your neck was killing you. You sit up and roll your neck, the tense muscles popping. You sit up and try to smile at Zayne as he approaches you. His expression is calm, but is laced with concern.

“Does your neck hurt?”

You nod and sheepishly look away. He sets two large paper bags on the coffee table and removes his coat, draping it over the couch as he walks around behind you. You tremble as his cold fingers trace your neck and slowly massage the strained muscles.

“Sorry…”

He’s always apologizing for his cold hands, but you’ve grown to love the chill that runs through you when he touches you. You tip your head forward to let his fingers work up the center of your neck. His thumbs press against a particularly tender spot and you flinch. He pulls back immediately and places his palm over the spot, gently cooling the skin and easing the pain. 

“Don’t apologize. It feels good.”

He removes his hand and you almost whimper at the loss of contact. You’ve been thinking about curling up with him all day. His skin cooling yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles dipping lower to massage your lower stomach. A shiver runs down your spine, you stretch, trying to distract yourself from the onslaught of dirty thoughts. 

Zayne sits next to you and opens the bags on the table. He pulls out your pads, the exact brand you wanted, and then a new box of ginger tea. You smile when you notice he got the honey ginger flavor. He also pulls out a box of your favorite peanut butter chocolate candies and you let out a squeal. He looks over at you and smiles, those bright green eyes sparkling. 

He opens the food bag next and places the first container down, opening it to reveal a huge order of extra crispy fries. You immediately reach out to grab one, but Zayne smacks at your hand gently. 

“Patience. Let me get everything set up for you.”

He was always pampering you during your period. Massages, cooking, gentle words of affirmation. It drives you crazy, especially with your worst symptom getting harder to ignore. You’ve been in a relationship with him for almost a year and only last month had you finally worked up the courage to tell him about it. He was familiar with your ovulation routine, but he had no idea how feral you became during your menstrual cycle. He spent almost an hour assuring you that it was normal and there had been several studies about sex during your period being healthy. Going as far as explaining that it might help alleviate cramps. You weren’t sure at the time and he left for a conference a few days later, so you didn’t have a chance to revisit the topic.

“Fine. I’ll get some silverware.”

You stand and go to the kitchen to get two sets of silverware and plates. You return to your spot on the sofa and watch Zayne lay out napkins on the coffee table, he reaches for the plates and his fingers brush against yours. You nearly drop them, but Zayne grabs them firmly. He takes your hand and pulls you down onto the sofa. His gentle gaze makes the burning sensation between your legs even worse. 

“A teriyaki-glazed burger with cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo and a thick slice of grilled fresh pineapple. You always go for a sweet and salty option don’t you?”

“Why should I have to choose when this burger exists?”

He laughs and carefully plates your burger. He opens the container with his and your eyes nearly start watering. You cough and lean forward, peering into the box at his burger.

“What on earth did you get?! Why does it smell so spicy?”

He plates his burger and you spot the grilled jalapeños and pepper-jack cheese. When did he start liking spicy food? 

“It’s called a ‘Heatwave Burger’ - it has pepper-jack cheese, caramelized onions, a chili aioli, avocado and grilled and fried jalapeños.”

Your mouth hangs open and you stare at him. 

“I accidentally had fried jalapeños at a banquet during the conference I was at last month and ended up really liking them. Since then I’ve tried a few things.”

He pops a fried jalapeño in his mouth and he sighs, savoring the flavor. His cheeks flush as the heat filters through his senses. His glasses slip down his nose a bit and you bite your lip suppressing every urge to tear them off of his face and kiss him. You weren’t a big fan of spicy food, but tasting the heat on his tongue while his cold fingers held you close… 

You clear your throat and grab your milkshake, sticking your straw in and taking a large gulp. If you can focus on eating maybe this urge to jump his bones will subside. You carefully cut your burger in half and take a bite. Goosebumps rise along your arms as you chew, the sweetness of the pineapple mingles with the smoky teriyaki. When you look over, you see Zayne watching you while he nibbles on a fry. Your cheeks flush and you pout.

“Why are you staring?” 

He smiles and cleans his hands on a napkin. He carefully removes his cufflinks and starts rolling up his sleeves. You freeze, staring at his hands as they roll the fabric up over his elbows. Damn your weakness for forearms. And damn him for having spectacular ones. 

“I’m just happy to see you eating.”

You force yourself to look up at him. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Is he doing this on purpose? Rolling up his sleeves like that? You drop your gaze and focus on your burger. You’re only able to finish half of it and a handful of fries before you’re full. Zayne splits the fries between the two burger containers and you place the half you didn’t eat inside. You both stand and walk into the kitchen, placing the containers in the fridge and the leftover milkshakes in the freezer. 

“They’ll be a nice midnight snack.”

Surprised, you look at Zayne as he washes the plates and silverware at the sink.

“You never approve of midnight snacks… Who are you and what have you done with my Zaynie?”

You hold up two fingers and point your finger gun at him. He chuckles, his shoulders shaking as he turns to dry his hands on a towel. The water drips down his arm and you watch the muscles in his forearm twitch and flex. You let out a shaky breath. He looks so good like this. Sleeves rolled up, glasses sitting low on his nose, face flushed from his spicy burger, just washing dishes after dinner. The domesticity of it all is the most attractive thing in the world to you right now…

“You’re staring again.” 

You blink and watch him step towards you. You instinctively step back and your hip hits the edge of the counter. You wince and grab your hip, Zayne’s hand covers your own and you hold still, the feel of his skin touching yours is intoxicating and you just want to freeze this moment. Zayne steps closer and his breath tickles your ear. 

“Have you thought about what we talked about last month?”

You finally meet his gaze. His eyes scan your face, his other hand stroking your arm. He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I have…”

“My opinion hasn’t changed. Whatever you want to do, I’m here.” 

It takes all of two seconds for you to throw your arms around him and slot your mouth over his. He wraps an arm around you and braces himself against the counter with the other. With your chest pressed against him, you can feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

You drop your hands to his waist and pull his shirt up, untucking it from his pants. As your fingers fumble with the buttons he grabs your hips and starts to pull you towards the bedroom. His lips ghost over your neck and jaw, teasing kisses as he walks. With his shirt open, you run your hands over his chest, your fingers circling his nipples as you latch onto his bottom lip. 

He throws open the bedroom door and you don’t bother to try to close it. Just as you approach the bed, you spin, your hands pushing against his chest to push him down. He grunts as he falls onto the bed. You kneel in front of him and start to unbuckle his belt, but he grabs your hands. 

“Wait, this is supposed to be about you… not me.”

You can’t stand it anymore. You’ve worked hard to find a balance, a give and take, but every time Zayne turns you on you have only one desire. And every time you try to act, he pushes back and pampers you. Even when you’re not on your period, he always focuses on your pleasure first. But now that you’re finally indulging, you can’t stay quiet any more.

“I should –”

You cut him off.

“Zayne, I love you so much, but… I don’t want this to just be about me. You don’t realize how good it feels for me when I pleasure you. When I hear you moan and whimper… fuck, I’m obsessed with those sounds.”

He looks down and runs a hand over the back of his neck. He clears his throat and shifts on the bed. Your hands rise to cup his face and he slowly looks up to meet your gaze.

“You deal with so much every day, your job demands everything from you and you come home and put my needs above your own. You’re the most selfless person I know and I love you for that, but all I want right now is to help you let go. You deserve to feel good, your needs are important to me.”

He runs his hands down your arms. The crease between his brows is deep, you can’t help yourself, you lean forward and kiss the center of his forehead. His face relaxes and he lets out a breath. You rest your forehead against his.

“Zayne, I’ve come from just sucking your dick.”

His grip on your forearms tighten, his legs tremble against your waist.

“You can do whatever you want to me later, but I need this. I need you to let go for me…”

You run your hands down the sides of his neck and onto his chest. His hands rest on your arms, not directing them, simply moving with you. You slide them over his shoulders and push his shirt over and down his arms. He lets go of you and shrugs his shirt off, letting it fall behind him on the bed. Your hands glide down his chest and over his abs. 

“To taste you…”

You lean forward and lick along the hollow ridge at the center of his stomach. He groans, his hands gripping the comforter.

“To feel you…”

You bend your knee and stand just enough to drag your nose along his jaw before dipping down to his collarbone. You place tender kisses along the top of his chest and then turn your head to suck his nipple into your mouth. He gasps and his hands release the comforter to reposition behind him to stop himself from falling. 

“To watch you lose control for me…”

You lower yourself to your knees and continue unbuckling his belt. When you look back up at him, his chest is heaving and his eyes are barely open. He stares down at you and watches you unzip his pants. You hook your fingers into the waist and yank them down harshly along with his underwear. The sudden pull causes him to fall back onto his elbows. 

He gasps as you wrap your hand around his cock and slowly start to pump him. He sits back up, his hands propping him up. You run your thumb over his swollen tip, perfect beads of precum slowly leaking out. Your mouth waters and you squeeze his thigh with your free hand to ground yourself. You don’t want to rush this…

“Wait…”

You barely hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You look up and watch his eyes drop to your chest.

“Take off your shirt.” 

You’re about to argue, but the way he looks at you… he’s begging. God, that’s fucking hot. You release him for a moment to pull your shirt over your head. You reach behind you and unhook your bra, letting the straps drop down your shoulders. You watch Zayne’s pupils dilate as you pull the cups away. 

You lick your hands and rub the center of your chest before tracing circles around his slit gathering more of his precum. His mouth drops open when you rub your hands together and smear his release between your breasts. You wrap your hand around his cock and lean forward, with your free hand you cup one of your breasts and start to rub his cock against it. He struggles to catch his breath, a stream of precum dribbles down from his cock and onto your chest. You release his cock and cup your other breast, bringing it up to the other side. 

You squeeze your breasts together around his cock and use your thighs to move up and down. You keep your eyes on Zayne’s face, his mouth hangs open and he moans as he watches his cock move between your breasts. Your fingertips brush against your nipples making you shiver. He lifts a hand and reaches towards you.

“No!”

He stops and clenches his fist.

“No touching…”

He drops his hand back onto the bed. He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You smile at how his glasses have slipped further down his nose and his chest glistens with sweat.

“Take off your glasses, baby.”

He sighs, opening his eyes enough to lift his hand to pull his glasses off to drop them on the bed beside him. You shift to place one foot on the floor under you and use the leverage to bounce up and down faster. His hips twitch as his cock swells and the urge to thrust builds. Just as his grunts turn to whines, you lean back and release your breasts. His eyes fly open and he glares at you. 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. But… I can’t ignore my cravings at this time of the month…”

He barely has time to register your words before your tongue darts out to lick his slit. You finally hear him whimper. You’re about to come just from hearing that tiny sound. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck, you feel Zayne’s legs shake and you look up to see he’s collapsed back onto the bed. You wrap your hand around his base and stroke him slow while your tongue traces circles around his tip. 

A muffled groan causes you to stop, you see his arm draped over his face so you reach your other hand under to cup his balls. You massage him for a moment before gently squeezing. His arm flies off his face and he groans loudly. 

“I want to hear you, let me hear you… please baby…” 

You lick the underside of his shaft, his slightly salty flavor is exactly what you’ve been craving. You can’t hold back anymore, you take him into your mouth slowly. He thrusts his hips and you don’t lecture him, you’re both too far gone to care. You hollow your cheeks and suck all while massaging his balls. You flatten your tongue and start bobbing your head trying to take him as far into your throat as you can. You’re proud of your progress from the first time you tried to deepthroat him - you almost threw up when his tip hit the back of your throat. Now, the sensation makes your clit throb. 

You can feel his legs shake as he tries to stay still for you, but that just won’t do. You squeeze his balls again and he moans your name. You groan and the vibrations of your voice send him right over the edge. His release hits the back of your throat and you close your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. You focus on breathing through your nose and bobbing your head, keeping your lips sealed around him so you can swallow as much of his cum as possible but it still leaks out of the corners of your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck!”

To hear Zayne swear is a treat, he is usually so composed and reserved. You know you’ve achieved your goal of having him fall apart when he’s a babbling mess of whimpers, moans and swears. As he comes down from his climax, you swallow around him and use your tongue to clean up. He’s so sensitive post-release, but shit, he’s still so hard.

You release him and rub your cheek against his shaft. He lifts himself up to rest on his elbows as he looks down at you. He groans at the sight and his hips shift backwards. 

“Please… let me… touch you… now…”

His staggered breathing makes you smile. You nod and he sits up to grab your arms. He hauls you onto the bed on top of him. With your chest pressed against his, he wraps his arms around you, one hand sinking into your hair to keep you where he wants you. He kisses you in a frenzy, not wasting a moment to press his tongue into your mouth and taste himself. You taste the tiniest bit of something spicy and remember how hot his dinner was. The aftertaste makes your eyes water and you tuck your hands under him, letting yourself get lost in his flavor. 

He rolls you over and supports himself on his elbows, he chuckles as he takes in your cock-drunk expression. He dips his head and places kisses along your neck, chest, stomach, hips… As he tucks his fingers into the hem of your sweatpants you try to stop him.

“The bed…”

Zayne kisses your hands, urging you to loosen your grip and let go. When you do, he doesn’t hesitate to tug your pants and panties down completely.

“I’ll buy us a new bed if I have to, please don’t make me stop, I need you… I need this –”

His fingers find your clit and the sudden chill makes your hips jerk. You were so incredibly close, but the thought of your climax wasn’t as exciting when the mess would be twice as messy. You feel Zayne kiss your inner thigh, urging you to spread your legs further. You sit up on your elbows and try to close them instead.

“Za-ayne… You can’t…”

“Darling, as long as I don’t ingest menstrual blood I’ll be fine. Besides, I know you prefer my tongue elsewhere.”

He dips his head just enough to let the tip of his tongue roll over your sensitive clit and you’re gone. You collapse onto the bed and relax your hips so Zayne can spread you open. He presses your thighs down and closes his mouth around your bundle of nerves. His tongue circles and flicks, pausing to suck and kiss before repeating the cycle. He presses two fingers into your tender pussy and you cry out his name. 

“Say my name again… say it just like that, again..."

You do just that, over and over until he is curling his fingers so deep tears are streaming down your cheeks. His tongue matches the pace of his fingers and when he speeds up you only have time to let out a strangled whine before you’re seeing white. 

His fingers continue pumping you through your orgasm, while kissing your thighs. When he finally pulls his fingers away, you sob. He rolls you on your side and pulls you to his chest, letting you cry into his embrace. Damn, your rollercoaster emotions. 

“I’m so-sorry, I don’t kn-ow why I’m cr-crying. That felt so-o g-ood.”

Zayne chuckles and the rumble of his chest against your cheek calms you. Your tears slowly stop and your breathing regulates. Zayne’s hand caresses your back, using his evol to cool you down. You rest your forehead against his chest and slide your hand up his torso. You gently push against his chest so you can look up at him. 

“It really did feel good. So… good. I’m –”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He cuts you off and you smile. He knows you too well.

“I was going to say…I’m ready for round two.”

Zayne’s eyes widen in surprise and you giggle, savoring the moment. It’s not often you render Zayne speechless. It doesn’t last long, he rolls over again and you cling to him as you adjust to your new position on top of him. His hands hold your hips as he guides you into a sitting position. Your muscles stiffen and you look down, expecting to see his stomach covered in blood. 

“Hey, look at me.”

You close your eyes, forcing your hips to relax. You open them to see Zayne looking up at you like you’re his entire world and your chin begins to tremble again. His hands gently massage your hips and he smiles softly.

“I love you.”

You feel every worry melt away, this kind, caring, selfless man is everything to you. You’ll spend everyday telling him that. But tonight, you’ll show him how much he means to you. And you do just that, for hours on end. Zayne has always had a surprising amount of stamina, but when you finally stop, it’s clear he is going to need the rest of the weekend to recuperate. As tired as he is, he still gets out of bed and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to clean up. 

“Let me help you clean up, please?”

While he’d usually deny you, he sighs and lets you help. The look of pure bliss while you wash his hair, yeah, you’re willing to beg to do this again. However, he still doesn’t let you walk when your shower is done. He wraps a towel around you and carries you to the guest room. He brings you a pair of pajamas and a pad. You put on the panties with a fresh pad and crawl into bed, reaching out a hand to Zayne. He glares at you before tugging off his t-shirt and sleep pants. He crawls into bed with you and savors the heat of your skin against his. His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep.

When you open your eyes, it’s still dark out. You make a mental note to put a digital clock in the guest room before crawling out of bed. Zayne wasn’t there and you were already feeling anxious. If he is cleaning up the bedroom right now, you swear you’ll start crying again. 

The guest room door squeaks as it opens - another mental note, fix that. The faint glow of the kitchen light draws your attention and you follow it. You lean against the doorframe and smile as you take in your half-naked boyfriend stuffing his face with the rest of his dinner. You clear your throat and he nearly falls off of the bar stool. He turns to look at you, a glob of sauce smeared across his mouth. 

“Midnight snack?”

He wipes his mouth and grabs a fry, reaching out to hand it to you. You walk up to him and take the fry. You don’t miss the way Zayne’s eyes roam over your bare chest and he winces. You really did a number on him if getting even slightly hard makes him tense up. You cross your arms over your chest and lean down to look at him.

“You okay?”

He sighs and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“Just a little sore and very hungry. It’s been a while since we –”

“Fucked like rabbits?”

His cheeks redden as he looks down to the floor. You pull away from him and round the island to retrieve your leftovers from the fridge. You set the box down to pick up a blanket from the laundry basket sitting at the dining table. You wrap the blanket around yourself and sit beside Zayne. 

“Thank you.”

Zayne tilts his head and raises a brow, his mouth too full to say anything.

“It did help with my cramps.”

Zayne swallows and leans over to kiss your cheek. His thumb follows to clean off the sauce he left behind. 

“I’m glad. But if this is going to be a regular occurrence I think we should invest in a few things.”

You poke at the frozen surface of your milkshake.

“Like what?”

“Like a waterproof blanket, would be useful even when you’re not on your period with how much you –”

“ZAYNE!”

He chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss you again. 

“I’m sorry my love, but I’ll never be ashamed of how good I can make you feel. You’re my world and like you said last night, your needs are important to me too.”

AN: I did literal research to make sure eating someone out on their period was safe and Doctor Zayne is spot on. It’s also important to make sure the other person is tested for any bloodborne diseases. Obviously Zayne would know since he is the primary care physician and I have a HC that they would share that information with each other without hesitation. So yeah, don’t ingest it, use a “dental dam” (basically a barrier/shield) and know each other’s boundaries & health status.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut@withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @havenhope-art @lly5duck @freddy-2002-blog

Sylus Period Smut - Crimson Intimacy Rafayel Period Smut - Crimson Tides Xavier Period Smut - Crimson Glow

[dntaed]

﹅ CHERRIES KISS ◞ j. todd | 1k

SYNOPSIS: Your sweet boyfriend comes to take you home.

A/N: Atp I'm just recycling my old fics. I'm not sure if I made Jason a bit to possessive in this one. It really depends on which version I'm envisioning. I think i found the middle ground.

✹ ꕀ MASTERLIST; AO3

“I’m tough.” you remark as Jason’s rough fingertips dance over your knuckles ever so delicately.

He regards you as if he'd break you if he grabbed on too hard, shimmering glass as he praises every light reflected off of it. His soft touches light a candle in your heart. Your skin feels hot as his touch grazes over it.

He nods, “I know you are.”

His voice is laced with the all too familiar worry you've grown to hear from him. It thins his voice and the strength that follows it normally is gone and replaced with fragile vulnerability.

You always simmer in the soft way he bares himself strip of all masks.

You wish you could take all of it away and protect him. Unfortunately, you can't do that. You settle with trying to carry the burden together and prove to him he doesn't have to face any of this alone.

“C’mon Jay,” you pout, his eyes dart between your charming eyes and lips - dewy from the cherry lipstick you wear.

Cherries, an angel's kiss in spring.

“It’s just a simple bar, a small get-together with some of my UNI friends. Nothing bad will happen,” you put the emphasis on the last bit of your words as an effort to soothe Jason's fears and reassure him, “I can take care of myself.”

“You have,” he sighs, hands run , “you still do and will do so, I’ve just joined in too. I want to take care of you too.”

His words strike a chord inside your heart, the saccharine taste of them fills every corner of your body. Those endearing eyes he sneaks glances at you, not aware that you notice them and do the same, break into the surface of your skin and steal your breath away.

He has a way of consuming every bit and part of you. That never fails to mesmerize you.

“We take care of each other.” You reply as your lips graze over his scarred knuckles. “I don't want you to worry so much, baby.”

He sighs as he leans into your touch. “I know, I just—” he stammers, the words getting stuck on his tongue.

“It's normal to worry, but you can’t let it consume you.” You bring your hands to cradle his face. Jason doesn't shy away from the touch and sinks into your embrace – the sight makes your heart ache in the best way.

You grab onto his hand and place it on the inside of your wrist, letting him feel your pulse.

You give him a cheeky grin as you whisper, “feel that?”

He chuckles quietly, “Mhm, yes.”

“As long as you see, hear and feel me – I will never leave.”

♥︎ ♥︎

♥︎

In Jason's mind there is not a single person in this world who compares to you. No one is as dreamlike and otherworldly like you. Especially now, as he watches you sway and move in the kaleidoscopic hues of the bar. The prismatic lights kiss your delicate and inviting skin.

Oh, how he wishes to do the same.

Jason wonders if you know that he’s keeping an eye on you right now, if you can feel his watchful gaze on your form. Do his glances light a fire in your heart just as yours does in his.

He should be patrolling right now, making sure everything is okay. But he find his eyes following your every step as you glide through the dance floor.

He knew when you left the shared apartment that belongs to the two of you – 6:31 pm, knew when you arrived at the bar – 7:05 pm, knew when you finally met up with your friends – 7:18 pm.

Jason engraves every detail in his mind, because he has to. He's making sure that you're okay, that you're safe.

He catches a glimpse of you drinking some vibrant drink. You scrunch your nose at the taste of it and the sight sends butterflies in his stomach.

You laugh at something your friend says. The infectious and melodic sound of it reaches Jason. He can’t help the moonstruck grin that spreads on his face.

Jason's thrown for a loop when he spots your gaze pin him in place. Your eyes fixate on him as if you're entranced, as if he's the only one in the room.

He feels his heartbeat speed up.

Without tearing your gaze off of him you mumble something to your friends, something that he can only guess was a short goodbye. The surprised looks on your friends faces quickly disappear from his mind as you stride to him with confident, but light steps.

“Come to take me home?” You question with a curious voice with a taste of something he can't yet place.

He sheepishly runs his hand down his neck. “What gave it away?”

“Well.” You click your tongue. A smirk dances on your lips. “You've been pretty attentive all night long, watching my every move. I hope the show was up to your standards.”

“Show–?” He chokes on his words. You tease.

You laugh. The sound is akin to honeyed nectar on his tongue.

Jason tries to collect his thoughts. “I still haven't had my fill and I don't plan on leaving you unsatisfied either.”

“Really? I wonder who's the greedy one in this relationship.” You hum playfully.

“Dance with me,” he suggests unexpectedly.

Your eyes dart across his face, taking in his nervous demeanor. “You don't dance.”

“For you I will.”

♥︎ ♥︎

♥︎

He spares a single glance at the time. 10:46pm. Time for you to head back to the apartment.

He counts himself a lucky man as the one who takes you home, as the one who waits for you outside the bar, as the one your wobbly steps guide you towards, as the one you wrap your arms around while he caresses your face and tells you to let me help you with the helmet, honey.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. The skin is velvety to the touch.

Jason's eyes don't leave your own dazed and enchanted eyes. To him you are a vision so captivating, so sickeningly sweet, all he wants is to get a taste of you.

He is taking you home, isn't he? He is truly a lucky man.

© anshellim | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

 “Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face.  “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

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[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

"We should scry on them."

"No!"

"GWAAAAAAARGH!!!"

"You stay out of this!"

"You're just mad she agrees with me."

The cave was spaciously appointed, though not luxuriously; the occupants preferred it that way. The two wizards believed in a more literal Man Cave experience, while the horror certainly felt more at home in the dark, rocky environs than it would have in a traditional summoning chamber.

"Oh come on-"

The horror cuts him off with a pointed look, cones swivelling to fix the wizard with stares from a dozen tiny eyeballs. He recovers after a moment and continues.

"Of course a Spiny Watcher thinks scrying is a good idea! She might be a fantastic parent in her own dimension," he says to an approving grumble, "but our daughter doesn't live in a literal hellscape infested with countless predators. They'll be fine."

"You really think she's ready? What if the boy is-"

"She can handle it. You've seen her growth over the past few years. You're just scared."

He reaches out and takes his husband's hand. The other man is silent.

"Just...think for a moment. If you really believe she's in danger, that we missed something in the wards on the house, or she's irresponsible enough to mess around outside them, or there's something else you think I've missed, then we can talk about it. But we have to start trusting her sometime."

A beat passes. The horror taps an appendage on the ground impatiently.

"...magic is dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Things will. Right now, working in a safe environment on the beginner's spell suite, they'll be manageable. Give her room to make mistakes while she still has a safety net."

The other man hesitates, but ultimately nods.

"Whatever happens, it'll be alright. Now come on, we have a job to do."

The horror's eye-cones perk up as the two approach, shrinking back before she steels herself.

"It's alright, ma'am, just a routine bile test, won't be a moment. Your kids are in good eyes with your wives, you don't need to worry. Just focus on me for a second..."

The horror rotates its cones uncertainly before jumping forward in surprise.

"Done!" says the other wizard from behind her. "We'll send you back right away so you can get on with your watching; if anything's wrong we'll reach out, okay?"

The horror grunts something affirmative and thankful.

"Have a good day, ma'am," the wizard says with a wave, and the horror shrinks to a point in space and vanishes.

The man's husband sighs.

"It'll be alright," the first wizard says, reaching out to ruffle his partner's hair affectionately. "We've raised a wonderful young girl, and it's time for her to start coming into her own."

The other man lets out a sigh, half worried, half appreciative. He turns his gaze to the exit as his husband gets out the testing kit, and worries.

---

"What did you do, what did you do?"

"I did what you told me to!"

"I didn't tell you to summon THAT!"

The girl and the boy slowly back away from the thing that has appeared in the boy's carefully prepared circle. It was supposed to be a small rock. It was not.

"Send it back!"

"How??"

"Invert the thing you just did!"

"...how??"

The girl groans in frustration.

"Never mind. This place is warded to hell and back, it shouldn't be able to get us."

"Warded?"

"Yeah, like...protected against a bunch of stuff. If it attacks us it'll be stopped, if it tries to summon more..."

A beat passes.

"...like I did?"

"Shit," the girl says. "Something must be wrong with the wards."

"...should we go get your dads?" the boy asks hesitantly. The girl scowls, but begins to make wordlessly for the door.

The thing in the circle cries.

Not a vicious thing like they might have expected, but a high-pitched, keening sound of distress. Strangely human, for such an inhuman looking creature.

The pair turn to it. Now that they're not freaking out, it seems...small.

Too small.

"Ash, I...I think it might be a baby."

Ash's eyes soften for a moment, before she turns to go again.

The thing cries a second time.

"Is it going to be okay if we just leave it here?"

"We have to get my parents, Todd!"

"It's probably terrified! We can't leave it alone!"

"Well I don't know what to do!" Ash says, voice rising in pitch. Todd pauses and turns to her; her eyes are wide and fixed on the thing, seemingly unblinking.

He takes a breath.

"Ash, it's okay. You're the smartest person I know. This stuff is clearly important to you and you're just as clearly good at it."

"Then why-"

"Worry about that later. What do we need to do right now?"

"Get my parents," Ash says, turning towards the door.

The thing cries for a third time. Ash winces.

"...right. Maybe it...maybe you try going instead?"

Todd turns towards the door. The creature doesn't react.

Both of them relax, but only a little.

"Guess it likes you, heh."

"Just hurry up, Todd," Ash says irritably.

As Todd hustles out of the library and back towards the entryway, Ash stares warily at the horror.

Its eye-cones stare back.

---

"Ma'am, we're getting the scrying pool set up as quickly as we can. If you could please-"

"GRAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"

"I understand, ma'am. We have a daughter too. We are doing everything we-"

"GOOOOOOOORGH."

The wizard frowns.

"That she is not of our blood is irrelevant. Your stress is understandable, but I don't appreciate-"

A knocking sound booms through the cave.

"Speak of the dev- mm, better not actually," the wizard says, heading for the door as his husband finishes chanting and waves a large staff over the water in the basin.

The wizard mutters a few words under his breath and an opening appears in the rock.

"Theresacreatureinthelibrarywithconesforeyesand-"

"GUAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"BOTH OF YOU BE SILENT!" the wizard thunders, the words ringing out like a curse. The boy continues talking for a moment, stopping in confusion when no sound is emitted. The horror surges forward.

"Okay, got a fix on- ma'am, please!"

The monstrous mother rushes through the opening, shoving aside both wizard and boy before either can react. Her eye-cones swivel wildly, taking in the myriad doors in the entrance hall, before she grabs the boy and hauls him to his feet. She opens her mouth in a soundless roar.

The boy pales, but remains in place. The wizard behind him scrambles to his feet.

"Ma'am, he can't hear you and he couldn't understand you if he could. Now please-"

The boy points to one of the doors. She shuffles through it at terrifying speed.

"Boy, do you have any idea what you just did?" the wizard says with a frown.

"He sent her to her child, dear," the other wizard says as he emerges. "We were about to do the same."

"Yes, but did he have any idea?"

The dads turn to the boy, who opens his mouth to speak and doesn't.

"Right," says the first wizard, snapping his fingers.

"-don'tknowhowbut-"

A guttural noise echoes from the open doorway. The wizard allows himself a brief moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, then sets off toward the sound at a run.

"Wait here, son," his husband says, clapping the boy on the shoulder and moving to follow.

"Do I have to?" asks the boy.

The man turns and eyes him appraisingly.

"I suppose not," he says before taking off at a sprint, the boy hurrying to follow.

---

None of them were sure what they expected to find when they arrived at the library, there hadn't exactly been time to speculate, but it definitely wasn't Ash and the larger horror swinging the smaller one back and forth while it burbled happily.

"Gauuuuu!"

"See? Still fun with just two of us right?"

"GUUUURGH."

"Alright, you heard mom, three more swings and then we- oh, hey guys!" Ash says cheerfully, carefully lowering the child to the ground. "Gaooo..."

"I know, but it's time for you to go home. You shouldn't even be here in the first place!"

"Gauuu?"

"Only if your mothers say you can. Now come on, she's been worried sick about you."

"Guoooo..."

"GROOOOOGH."

The mother scoops up the child and holds on tightly as Ash turns to face the bewildered arrivals.

"What on earth happened in here, young lady?" one of her fathers says.

"You mean you don't know?" Ash frowns. "I was hoping you'd be able to answer that for me."

"Now see here-"

"No, no, she's right," her other father says. "The house should have been warded against this sort of thing. Ash, dear, what were you doing when this little fellow appeared?"

"I was running Todd through the-"

"Todd, huh? You never did introduce us before."

"Dad-"

"Just don't turn him into a toad, alright?" her dad says with a wink. "Your father gave me no end of grief when-"

"DAD!"

The man chuckles, gesturing for her to continue while his husband sighs.

"Okay, so I was running Todd through the beginner's suite. We were up to the rock-"

"You're up to the rock already? Promising," her dad says, slapping Todd on the back so hard he stumbles forward. Ash glares at him. "Sorry, sorry, go on."

Ash clears her throat.

"We were up to the rock, but when he tried to summon it from the nearby table he got..."

Ashley gestures helplessly back at the mother and child, the former watching with increasing impatience barely tempered by curiosity.

"Which shouldn't have happened for a number of reasons, so-"

Her dad snaps his fingers.

"Did the young one seem scared?"

"Well, yeah, but we pulled him out of who knows where- well, I suppose the mother must- wait, where did she come from, anyway?"

Her dads look at each other silently for a few seconds, then a few seconds more.

Then a few seconds more.

"Ash, what do you think happens in the Man Cave?"

"Dad, if this is another one of your jokes about-"

"No jokes, Ash," her dad says seriously.

"...then...I don't know. You have a different story every week. I guess you're probably just...no, I really don't know," she finishes with a frown.

"It's the family trade, Ash. We offer a variety of goods and services from medical to recreational to folks from other dimensions. She," the wizard says, gesturing to the mother, who looks over briefly before returning to fussing over her child, "was here for a routine checkup; we sent her back home, she found one of her children missing, and she came right back to ask for our help finding him. Todd came to get us, mentioned the little fellow, pointed her in the right direction, and she took off right away."

There is silence for a few moments as Ash processes this, broken only by soft cooing sounds.

"...I have a few questions."

"Shoot."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

"Well, we figured when you were old enough-"

"Was it dangerous for me to know?" Ash said.

"We didn't want you looking into anything extraplanar before-"

"Was it?" she demanded, face flat.

"Yes," her other dad interjected. "Neither of us heard about interdimensional travel until we were well into our careers, and for good reason. The mere knowledge that it's possible has led many uneducated, unsupervised wizards to attempt the unwise; even tiny, seemingly safe, ostensibly observation only dimensional magics can fail in subtle yet catastrophic ways without an experienced practitioner on hand. Talking about it with the uninitiated is simply not done, and initiation doesn't happen until...later."

Ash frowns. "Cat's out of the bag now, isn't it?"

Her dads sigh.

"I suppose," one says. "We'll start tomorrow. Don't try anything, anything, for any reason, until then. Okay?"

Ash nods.

"Alright. Tomorrow."

A beat passes.

"How did the kid get here?"

"I am guessing through the 'tunnel' we used to send his mother back home," one of her dads says. "He must have been spooked by something and latched onto the rock summoning spell through it as a reflexive means of escape; it probably felt like mom and seemed similar to the escape route Spiny Watchers usually provide when their children are in danger."

"GRAAAAAAH."

"Yeah, she asked her kid and it seems like that lines up with what he told her."

A beat passes. Ash sighs.

"We'll talk about that more tomorrow, I guess.

Her dads nod.

"What about him?" she says, pointing at Todd. "He knows about all this now, right? Is that a problem?"

"He'll have to come tomorrow too, and every session after until we're satisfied he's not going to break reality."

"Thought you weren't apprenticing my boyfriends any more," Ash grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile underneath. Her father chuckles. Todd stands there awkwardly, trying to look confident.

"Last question: Why did Todd send her down here?"

Everyone turns to Todd, who shrugs.

"Didn't take a genius to figure out she was looking for her kid," he says.

"And you just sent her after Ash?" one of the wizards says with a frown.

Todd shrugs again. "If I didn't trust Ash, I wouldn't be letting her teach me about all this in the first place. Besides, you were treating the mother like a visitor, and she didn't hurt me. Figured she was safe and just worried out of her mind. Didn't seem right not to help."

The dads exchange a glance.

"Well," says one, "we're going to have a good, long talk about best practices when dealing with dimensional visitors."

Todd nods nervously.

"That said...in this case, you were right. Properly honed and backed with knowledge, that instinct will serve you well in this field."

"Er, I was planning on going into forestry..."

"Too bad," a dad says with a laugh.

Todd sighs.

"Well, if there are no more immediate questions then we'll all reconvene tomorrow. Our guests here have been waiting more than long enough."

"GRAAAAAAGH."

"You kids get back to the beginner's suite; Todd here will need a strong foundation sooner than we expected."

The pair of wizards and the pair of horrors file quickly out of the library, leaving the younger pair alone.

Ash turns to Todd.

"So, the rock should probably wait until they're done. Next is the feather..."

A girl and the guy she is dating just walked into her house and see her parents slinging spells at one another, smiling and cackling like madmen. "Are they fighting?" said the guy, hiding behind her. "Worse. It’s their anniversary, so this is them actually...flirting," she said, rolling her eyes.

[next-door-kiddo]

Pervy!dad who: gets mean when you misbehave. If you mouth off, if you tease and don’t put out? You lose your privilege to cum. "Nuh-uh kiddo" he tsks, pressing the vibrator hard against your cock, watching your thighs tremble.

"You don’t get to cum. Not after you acted like a little brat all day. You can shake and cry all you want but you’re not cumming tonight, I meant it kid.

Pervy!dad who: takes you shopping, drags you into a fitting room, shoves you against the mirror, and opens you up on his fingers- all while whispering the filthiest shit in your ear. "Think anyone can hear you, baby?" he murmurs,

"Think some poor shopper is standing outside right now, listening to the way I’m stretching you out?

"Fuck- bet you’d love that, huh? Bet you’d cum right on the spot if someone walked in and saw you like this, daddy's big fingers invading that little kid-hole."

Pervy!dad who: never lets you sleep through the night undisturbed. You wake up to his hands already on you, his cock pressed to your hole, rubbing slow and lazy. He’s barely even awake himself, just grinding against you like it’s instinct. "fuck kiddo, you're so warm"

Pervy!dad who: bans you from wearing underwear when you’re out with him. Doesn’t matter if you’re running errands, at dinner with friends, or sitting across from him at a fucking family gathering- he wants you bare, wants your cock pressing against the rough fabric of your jeans, wants to watch you squirm. "What’s wrong, baby?" he taunts.

That denim a little too much? Can’t stop thinking about how good my spit would feel, huh? How easy it’d be to just slide my hand right in, jerk you off under the table?"

Pervy!dad who: makes you sit on his cock every night before bed- not to fuck, not to grind, just to sit there, stretched and stuffed full of his thick Dad cock while he scrolls on his phone, watches TV or talks about his day.

Pervy!dad who: comes home after a long day, peels off his sweat-drenched briefs/boxers/jockstrap, and immediately shoves them against your face. Doesn’t even give you time to protest, he just holds them there, lets the scent- thick, musky and overpowering- completely consume you.

"That's it kiddo" he coos, watching your lashes flutter, your lips part against the damp fabric. "You’re already getting hard, aren’t you? You like this. Like the way Dad fucking stinks."

And he doesn’t stop there. Oh, no.

Next thing you know, he’s pressing your wrists to the bed, rolling his hips forward- grinding his hard, musky, dad cock right up against your face.

"C’mon, kiddooo..." he practically fucking purrs, "Show me how much you love my fucking scent. Open up that pretty mouth for Dad"

Pervy!dad who: makes you rut against his thigh like a desperate little mutt in heat, grinding your soaked, aching cock against the rough denim of his jeans while he leans back, arms crossed, watching you humiliate yourself.

"That’s it, kiddo, keep goin" he says, all mockingly. "Look at you- rubbing yourself off like a fuckin’ dog. You that needy puppy boy?

Pervy!dad who: keeps your cock locked in a tight, metal cage, your cock swollen, leaking, begging for release. And the worst part? He wears the fucking key around his neck, dangling just out of reach, reminding you who owns your pleasure.

"See this, kid?" he smirks, pulling it into his mouth, sucking on the metal before letting it drop against his chest.

"This little thing decides if you cum today- or if you stay my desperate, aching little boy for another week."

And when he does finally let you out?

"Better thank me for letting you feel my hand again. Better tell me how lucky you are to have a daddo like me kid, or I’ll snap this cage back on so fucking fast."

Pervy!dad who: owns your boy-hole - who keeps you plugged up, stretched open, always ready for him, even when you're out in public. And the best part? He’s got a remote.

"Be good at dinner, ok kid?" he warns, kissing your cheek before shoving the plug deep inside you, making you whine. "Or I’ll crank it up right when the waiter comes over. You don't wanna embarrass dad out in public kiddo, ya hear me? I'll make you regret it."

And of course- even with you being on your best behavior, your filthy Dad finds a way to make up a stupid excuse to say that you failed. Suddenly- click.

The vibration pulses inside you, deep and unrelenting, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning.

"Uh-oh," he grins, sipping his drink. "You look flustered kid. You feeling alright? Hm?"

When you finally break, panting, clutching at his sleeve- he just chuckles, leans in, and whispers, "Go ahead and cum, kiddo. Soak your fucking pants in the middle of this restaurant- I dare you."

[kkusuka]

i would love to be john price's (141's) little bird.

(afab reader, you're lowkey a housewife, g/n pronouns, this was also a lot longer than i meant it to be-1.2k words- and i also wrote it entirely in class)

just the cute little thing he comes home to after long missions; ready to give him anything he needs to fully enjoy his time at home. barefoot and wide-eyed waiting for your bear of a husband to return from his long hard mission, keeping him fed and fucked as much as he needs. and he just loves you so much-- so much that he needs to show everyone how good you are for him.

it's not like he sets out to rub it in, but when his sergeant mentions not having anyone waiting for him at home-- john just can’t help but invite him over, you always talk about how much you love taking care of him, adding another man shouldn't be a problem! and what kind of captain would he be if he didn't take care of his subordinates?

and you aren't complaining! you love when john lets you see into his job! and gaz is just so sweet, saying please and thank you, offering to help clean the dishes, and politely refusing any leftovers even when you all know he has no food to go back to. so, you just have to keep inviting him over, night after night. and he's so good at conversations, even when he and your husband talk with all their military jargon, he makes sure you understand all of it; you just want to keep him in your house forever! so you kind of do…

you can't imagine making him go all the way home to his cold and dark apartment, it's so far and you know he's tired from his month of constant action-- so suddenly kyle has a bedroom set up right next to yours (close enough to hear how john thanks you for being so good to his sergeant, and just maybe a hand goes down below his waistband) a fully stocked bathroom and a place to put his shoes when you all come back your occasion dinners out. (they're dates, you don't think it but they do)

but kyle is not a man so stay silent about his blessings. you're too nice, too pretty to not tell soap about-- and trust john isn't going to complain, and he knows that you won’t either. 'the best roast i think i've ever had' and 'knows exactly how to make a man feel at home' and soap is not one to stray from his desires.

so you end up with your boys, and a bubbling scotsman in your dinning room with no warning. and you're upset, no one told you that you had to make more food and now there isn't enough to give everyone your usual heaping portion- and there is no way you're letting anyone go hungry in your home!

so you end up bouncing around the kitchen, trying to whip something up before the main course finishes in the oven and who but soap offers to help you out! he's got a hand on you at all times (two on your waist when you're chopping the onion, he just wouldn't know what to do with himself if you got hurt making him dinner. so he has to hold you steady, he has to run his hands over your hips keep you stabilized-- don't think too much into it, just stay focused on chopping bonnie)

and soap knows that he can talk for hours, but he can't help it when your eyes light up when he mentions his childhood in scotland and his missions around the world. and your small flinch and frown when he talks about getting hurt. their lass just can't help but worry about them. he just can't stay away from his captains sweet bird-- not when you send him off with a steaming pile of leftovers and a tight hug (pressed against him as hard as you can because you don’t want him to go)

johnny, a man to brag, never shuts up about how it took kyle three months to get a room but it only took him two. (sometimes when he comes back from the bathroom in the morning he can see into your room as you're getting ready. and he doesn't mean to do it but your panties are his favorite shade of blue and they look so amazing on you-- he wants to see them up close so bad.)

and so he tells ghost of all his troubles- unasked and randomly the next time they got sent out. and does ghost really care about johnny's playground crush on their captains bird? yes. how had he been left the only one not getting home cooked meals after being sent out? is he going to say anything about it?

not a chance.

so it takes a little while before the final place at your dinner table to be filled. but after a particularly grueling mission (and already wishing to come over), ghost is finally convinced he belongs with the rest of his team.

and you've never been happier to make extra food; you've been hearing for months about the illusive fourth man of your husband's battalion but having him stand in your kitchen with a cute little store bought dessert was certainly worth the wait. ( 'Ah didnae ken ye liked pink that much, lt' 'it was all they 'ad, can't show up empty 'anded, johnny')

and is he a little awkward and standoffish, of course-- years of military pressure will do that to a man!

and simon is just too sweet, even if he doesn't know it. he's pulling your chair out for you, and running out in the rain to collect the mail that you'd forgotten all about. he even lets you drag him to the grocery store during your weekly trips. (it's not dragging, he'd follow you into the pits of hell if you'd asked him too so the grocery store is really not a big deal.)

everything is just so perfect when all of your the boys are all in the house together!

and suddenly everything in life makes sense again. that plate that you can never reach on the highest shelf in the kitchen, a body is pressed against you as simon leans over you to grab it leaving you with a squeeze to your hip and red face. the gossip that your husband just never understood in the way he should is studently being told to kyle over coffee every morning as your other boys roll out of bed. the soap opera that you rope johnny into watching every thursday night becomes facemasks and wine time.

and john just loves it. he just loves you so much; loves the way you smile at kyles flirting, loves how you cuddle up to johnny on the couch, loves how you let simon hold you so close when you make his tea in the morning, and he just loves teasing you about it. (teasing? yes. making you face the fact that you want your husbands men to run a train on you like a whore. also yes.)

i wanna keep going but i have to let it end at some point

[madamechrissy]

Fratboy Gojo

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

More headcanons from Took you Like a Shot - these are extra scenes set after chapter 2, but can be read alone- MDNI- explicit - whipped, longing Gojo- phone sexm, masturbation (Satoru and reader) dirty talk, fluffy ass cuteness, Satoru whimpers, lots of feelings -other headcanons here

Fratboy Gojo should be enjoying his trip with his best friends, but it's getting depressing, even on the cruise to the fucking Bahamas, shouldn't he be having the time of his life? His eyes don't even give anyone attention, how could he when he knows you're back home, pregnant- fuck have you changed in the past couple weeks?

Fratboy Gojo decides not to go out with his friends that night and stay in their suite himself, staring at the phone and contemplating for just a moment before he gives in, calling you. 'Hey Gojo' you say softly, sleep in your voice, making him ache. 'Hey sweetheart, were you asleep?' he hears your yawn, smiling like a lovesick idiot. He guesses that's what he is. 'No, just reading' 'ya reading that smut?' you giggle now 'mmhmm'

Fratboy Gojo hears your little sigh, driving him insane with need, just hearing it makes him hard, throbbing under his boxers while he lays sprawled in the giant, fancy suite that feels empty without you. 'Ya miss me brat?' you scoff now. 'no, never - why do you miss me?' Satoru scoffs now 'no, never, so peaceful without you' you glare at the phone, and he can damn near feel it 'I'm kidding' you bite your lip now, shifting in your bed, hearing his husky voice rushing through you. 'I was kidding too, I kind of miss you, just a little' he smirks, a hand leading down his flat abs, slowly, picturing your pretty body in his mind. 'you just miss cumming, hmm?'

Fratboy Gojo glares when you retort - 'think I don't make myself cum?' 'you're a slutty girl, aren't you?' you feel it, the heat clenching in your tummy. 'I'm mad at you, Satoru - leaving me in this state right after you did that... thing with your mouth' he chuckles, thumb brushing over the trail of silvery hair under his belly button, as you slip up your shorts just a bit, brushing yourself over them, whining before you can stop it. 'You liked me drinking that pussy up, hmm?' you're throbbing around nothing, dammit. 'shouldn't you be partying, dancing or whatever? smoking?' 'maybe I just wanna talk to you, maybe I wanna... be back between your thighs, fuck you'd like that, wouldn't you?'

Fratboy Gojo grins when you huff so clearly over the phone. 'Can I get a picture you think?' you hesitate a bit. 'picture of what?' 'titties' You roll your eyes, but he gets an image- moaning when he sees them 'fuck they're so sexy, wanna suck on those nipples - touch them, would you?' you do as he asks, thumbs running over your nipples in circles. 'they hurt' you pout as your back arches, your nipples pressed against the thin top you're wearing, pussy soaking your shorts even worse while Satoru frees his cock, which is already leaking precum against his lower belly button. 'imagine how they'll be dripping milk, hmm? I'm gonna suck it all up' 'Satoru!' he's chuckling just a bit, but it's too late, you're both too far gone

Fratboy Gojo eases his boxers down fully, thick cock so hard it hurts, imagining just that, milk dripping from your puffy nipples. 'what, you wouldn't like it?' you feel yourself heating up then - 'perv' - he laughs softly, but it turns to a whine when his thumb presses his tip. 'are you stroking yourself, Satoru? thinking of me?' he curses internally, when that bratty little voice is crying out. 'you're touching your pussy, wanting my mouth, aren't you?' you nod, knowing he can't see, as the two of you play with yourselves, his eyes close, hearing you then. 'I can hear how wet you are, fuck' 'mnh!'

Fratboy Gojo can't take it, the longing, he can't hold back like he has been, not on the phone, drunk off your voice, the memories. 'I wanna lick it all up, so wet, isn't she?' you're gasping out, while you pump two little fingers in your soppy little hole. 'y-yes, do you want that, me pouring all over your face?' 'god you're a freaky brat, gonna dirty talk better than me!?' you're both whining, him stroking, you pumping. 'I r-read a lot of smut' he's breathless, listening to your moans grow louder and louder, while his cock twitches, he leans down to spit on it, while you drool down your own fingers. 'that journalism degree- ah f-fuck- it's j-just for you to write... smut... fuck!' you can't glare, you're too wet, pulsing around your fingers, whining 'm'close, Satoru, p-please...'

Fratboy Gojo moans as your words wash through him. 'I wish I was there right now, fuck... want my fingers instead, don't you? yours can't hit that spot?' you whine in frustration. 'y-you little... conceited- shouldn't have g-gone...' he exhales, head leaning back on the soft pillows as yours do 'I know, fuck I know... work your clit, it's easier baby, okay?' you do as he suggests, running in circles, engorged clit twitching under your touch. 'm-mad at you...' he gulps now, cock so close to busting. 'm-mad at myself, please just... will you cum for me baby?' Baby, he's calling you baby, and you're close, hearing his breaths, hearing his wet strokes. 'picture me right there' you do then, shattering, cumming so much you soak your hands, while Satoru chases his release from hearing you.

Fratboy Gojo loses it when you whisper 'you cum for me, now, hmm Satoru? be good' 'fuck you for that, mnh! close, close' you're sucking yourself off your fingers. 'I taste yummy' oh god, he's done, busting so much all over his hand now, white ropes endlessly pouring sticky across his hand, as just hearing him makes your cunt pulse in response. 'want a picture, for fap material?' you roll your eyes, shaking your head. 'you're so annoying...' you pause then. 'yeah.'

Fratboy Gojo uses his clean hand, sending it so quickly, and it makes your pussy clench again, pretty cock coated with cum - with some dumb little cat sticker with it's tongue out - 'fuck... your cock is pretty' 'is that a compliment!?' 'psh... no. a fact. jerk' Satoru cleans up, pressing you on speaker then, as you clean up as well, laying back down, putting him on speaker too. 'I'm upset you left, but I don't blame you for having a life... I guess, I'm just... lonely' Satoru pauses now, emotions in his throat after having that release. 'I wish you told me not to go... I could leave early?' you shake your head. 'no, it's okay, I told you, you're sacrificing enough, this wasn't your choice'

Fratboy Gojo feels something just gnawing at him now, what was he doing here? trying to cling to some bachelor life while you're changing everything about yourself for this. 'I should let you get some sleep' you murmur then, and Satoru shuts his blue eyes, snowy lashes fluttering, when he pulls a pillow close. 'wanna fall asleep on the phone?' you pause, tugging your pillow against yourself. 'yeah we can... Satoru why aren't you out?' because all he can think about is you, that's why. 'I didn't feel like it, get some sleep brat, aren't you growing my baby inside you?' His baby. His. The thought makes him crave you so badly it's difficult to stand it. 'your parasyte you said, remember?' he snorts in laughter. 'it still technically is, you're just emotioal about it'

Fratboy Gojo doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he wakes up and you're still on the phone, lightly snoring... and he knows then, he made the wrong fucking decision. When his friends stumble in and bring girls back, heading to their rooms, Satoru shuts his door, so he can listen to you breathe instead, the only good sleep he's gotten since he's been here.

I'll be doing these between chapters as this story will have some time skips- I hope you enjoyyyy <3

Perm tags - @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @naomi-main @fairygardenprincesss @estrellaexists @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff gojo: @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen

[eupheme]

hii! hope i’m not bothering you but i thought of the last tiktok trend fic you wrote with logan and i wanted to ask if you were willing to write something about the ‘i cant pay the mortgage this month’ trend with husband!logan and how he would react to it😭🙈

hi!! 💖 I’ve seen this trend for sure - I thought this would be so cute to do with origins!logan. I hope you like this! thank you so much for sending it in!

— don’t worry, honey

origins!logan x f!wife reader | 360 words | fluff

“I have something to tell you.”

There’s a guilty twinge in your stomach at the way Logan’s eyes bounce so quickly to yours. The little mark between his brow as they knit together - dinner long forgotten.

A lingering silence as he waits for you to continue, though you know his mind must be going a mile a minute. Trying to solve whatever’s resting on the tip of your tongue.

Your fingers twist around your napkin, “I’ve bought a couple things for the house. And I don’t-“

A breath, to steady yourself.

“I don’t think I have enough to pay the mortgage this month.”

The frown deepens.

“The mortgage this month.” He repeats, slowly. Flatly. The utensils set down against the wooden table, as he leans back in his chair.

You nod, as he scratches at his chin. Gold glinting around a finger in the low evening light, the sun a wash of pink and orange outside.

“You know there isn’t one on the cabin, right?” A brow arches, “I built this for us, honey. I don’t know how you got it in your head that we have a mortgage.”

Shit. Your grin turns sheepish, but he misses it in his confusion. A hand reaching into his back pocket as his hips lift, fishing out a worn leather wallet.

“If you need money, you can have what I’ve got. I’ll pick up a couple more shifts at the lumberyard-“

You can’t take it anymore - pushing yourself up, circling around the table. Setting his offering on the table before you’re perching on his thighs, his lips still down-turned as affection flits across your face.

“You’re too sweet to me.” Your hands slip up his shoulders, twining around his neck, “We’re fine. It was just a dumb prank I heard the girls talking about in town.”

“Is that right?” the smile starts small - a pull at the corner of his lip, a rough huff of amusement. Used to hearing all the hot gossip you’re always bringing home and not understanding a word of it, “Well, just know you don’t ever gotta worry about anything like that.”

His hand slips up to cradle your head, tugging your mouth down to meet his.

“I’ll always take care of my girl.”

[losers-clvb]

meeting the family soldier boy x female!reader

summary: you take ben to meet your crazy family. you're a bundle of nerves, but ben assures you everything will be fine. he just has to keep his mouth shut -- a nearly impossible task for the supe.

content: swearing, mentions of sex, ben may be slight ooc (he's just not craycray right now), mentions of ben and reader's respective pasts, fluff, surprisingly respectful ben (but he's still makes his own comments.

word count: 4.6k

note: i went a little off-the-rails with this one. i envisioned it as yapper reader from it will come back and talk too much, but there is no outright connection with her. i'm in love with what i've created here, so expect more of this family.

m.list

“Ben.” You groaned out his name, again, when you felt his hands on your hips, again.

Seems like fifth time was the charm, because he backed off.

“You’re no fuckin’ fun.” He muttered with his usual I-need-to-get-what-I-want attitude, rolling his eyes. You swore he was worse than a teenage girl with his small temper tantrums.

“We’re already running late.” You flicked your eyes to the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Which, I’ll remind you, is your fault.”

“Didn’t seem like it was my fault when I woke up with your hand around my fuckin’ cock.”

Maybe part of this, a very small and insignificant part, was your fault.

“Yeah, well, I woke up to it poking me in the back.”

Tousling your hair to try to get it to go the right way -- whatever direction that was --, you felt his eyes rake up your body.

“Not my fault my girl is so damn sexy.” He took a step forward, prompting you to spin around and stick a hand out to stop him.

Ben pouted -- actually pouted -- at your rejection.

If it were any other day, a day that didn’t include you practically biting your nails to the bone in anticipation, you would have been happy to get back into bed, maybe move to the couch or, Ben’s favorite, the bathroom sink so you could watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.

Unfortunately for you both, home was hours away, but your family was just a quick drive across town.

Lucky you!

“I told you to watch that mouth, mister.” You waggled a finger at him, narrowing your eyes to show you meant business.

“ ‘Damn’ is hardly offensive, doll.”

“I’ll show you how offensive I can be if you keep it up.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” He reached for you again. The swat to the back of his hand was instantaneous.

“Behave.” Your voice was stern, but the swallow after betrayed it. “Please.”

It wasn’t as if you were embarrassed of Ben. No, you didn’t give a shit if the old lady at the grocery store thought he was too touchy, or if your boss thought he swore too much.

But this was your family.

The people who raised you, who had to deal with your awkward phase of only wearing green for an entire year, the ones who teased you when you had your first crush. Their opinions mattered, even if you knew some of your aunts were far too judgy.

In theory, the fact that Ben was a supe worked to your advantage. America’s Son as your boyfriend, what girl wouldn’t love to bring that home to mom and dad?

Then the drinking and drugs and stubborn fucking attitude reminded you of all the reasons why they wouldn’t like him. Not to mention the fact that he was older than your grandfather.

Oh God, your grandfather. The eighty year old was going to hate Ben. He had hated your first boyfriend, who was top of his class at the nearby university. Though, perhaps the old man had a point, seeing how you had found the dickhead in bed with his professor.

“You ready, doll?”

Ben’s gravel woke you from your thoughts. He knew you had been thinking too much. He always knew when you were thinking too much. You inspected yourself one last time before nodding.

“I guess.” You sighed, swiping up your purse. You allowed him to sling an arm over your shoulders, but sent him a warning glare when his fingers fiddled with the strap of your dress.

“No need to worry, sweetheart,” he held the car door open for you, kissing the side of your head, “parents love me.”

You climbed into the car and frowned up at him.

There was no way parents loved him. He was the kind of guy they warned against, the one you brought home to spite your mother when she mentioned settling down.

“Don’t look so fuckin’ skeptical.” Ben scoffed when you just looked at him with your I don’t believe you face. Ignoring the amused smile on your face, he sauntered to the driver’s side of the car, slipping in.

“You’re telling me that you, Mr. Fuckin’ Weed and Whiskey,” you imitated his voice on “fuckin’”, he rolled his eyes, “have gotten a girl’s parents to like you.” The last part of your sentence came out with a laugh of disbelief.

“I’ve got it in me.” Ben defended, making another point pop into your head.

“You’ve never had to do this before.” You scoffed, the realization that you had no idea what to expect from this making your anxiety grow.

“Doll, I wasn’t worried about meetin’ mom when I had ‘em bent over the counter.” Ben tried to dismiss while pulling onto the road.

“Yeah, that makes me feel so much better.” You muttered, chewing on your lower lip. He did a double take, eyes flitting from the road to your nervous expression.

Clicking his tongue to get your attention, he brought his hand up to cradle your chin. He wiggled his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to release your skin to allow space for the intrusion.

“You may be my first, but I promise, you’re gonna be my last.”

The words washed over you, coating you in a peace you hadn’t known until you met Ben. He liked to do this, remind you of his love without actually saying it. You’d heard the words a total of two times in your relationship. It never felt like they were missing, not when he held doors open and spoon-fed you soup when you were sick.

His thumb retracted once he was sure you were calmed. Tangling his fingers in yours, the drive was filled with a comfortable silence, something Ben had taught you to be okay with.

Part of the reason why you were so hesitant to introduce him to your family stemmed from your childhood.

Where Ben had been raised as a nuisance, you had been cherished since day one.

Birthdays were filled with off-key singing and cheek-kisses from relatives. Talent shows were another thing in themselves, three rows of chairs taken up by cheering. Siblings grouped together to fight when school bullies dared to mess with you. Your aunts worked around the clock to knit a blanket when you went away to college.

You didn’t want him to see what he had missed out on.

“Christ, doll, you didn’t tell me you were loaded.” Ben chuckled when the looming farmhouse came into view. You made a face, knowing damn well his father had been far wealthier than your family.

Still, you couldn’t deny the fact that your parents weren’t exactly living paycheck to paycheck.

The family farm had been in business since… well, you weren’t all too aware of the specific year, just that the creaky floorboards on the porch had been placed by your great grandfather.

Summers were spent playing in the cherry trees, plucking the sweet fruit from the branches whenever you pleased. No one lived on these acres of land full-time, opting to share the space. Cousins and friends-of-the-family drifted in and out of the farmhouse throughout the months, ensuring there was always fresh lemonade in the fridge.

All of your firsts had happened in the barn off to the side of the property; first steps, first kiss, first time having sex -- though you would take that last piece of information to your grave.

“Don’t touch the good china,” you warned teasingly, a warm smile blossoming on your face when your cousin, Lina, sprinted for the car.

She was younger than you by about ten years, you taking on more of an older sister role in her life. She was a good kid, you told about everyone you came into contact with.

Ben hadn’t even shifted the car into park before you were jumping out to wrap your arms around her. She squealed your name into your hair.

“I missed you!” She pulled away, bouncing on her toes while you looked over her.

“Is that my dress?” You asked. It was something you hadn’t worn in years, but you would have recognized the light blue material anywhere.

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Yes.” She admitted sheepishly, looking to the ground.

“I knew it!”

“You left it in the upstairs closet! What else was I supposed to do?” She was on the defensive, a hand on her hip. You laughed and ruffled her hair, causing her to grumble out a complaint, but her own giggle cut through it.

“Who’s this gorgeous girl?”

Ben stepped up next to you, a basket of cookies in one hand while the other rested on the small of your back. Lina immediately blushed, and you didn’t blame her.

Anyone who was attracted to the male species would blush if Ben called them gorgeous.

“Lina-bug.” You answered, making her scrunch her nose up at the nickname.

“I’m not five.” She complained, sticking her tongue out at you despite the words.

“You’ll always be five to me.” You promised, curling into Ben out of pure instinct.

It was at that moment you noticed something dark, almost bruise-like peeking out at you from the collar of Lina’s -- your -- dress.

“What the hell is that?” You demanded, poking at the spot.

Lina paled, pulling away from your grasp. Her eyes flicked from you to Ben, blushing when she realized you both knew exactly what the hell it was.

She wasn’t a child, having turned seventeen just the month before. It was still far too young to be doing anything of this nature, anything that left a hickey on her collarbone for the entire family to see.

Ignoring the larger quantity of much darker marks littering your inner thighs, you opened your mouth to lecture her on why boys were stupid and not worth her time.

The call of your first and middle name made the breath choke in your throat.

“For your sake, I hope my ears just need a good cleanin’ and I didn’t just hear those words come from your mouth!”

Aunt Mavis was bounding her way across the yard, wearing her signature yellow sunhat. You cringed, a memory of the woman flushing soap into your mouth as a child for calling your brother a beach -- you hadn’t heard the word correctly -- flashing through your mind.

“Watch your mouth, doll.” Ben mumbled to you, teasing you with your earlier words. You grumbled out a warning to him.

Lina took the distraction as a chance to get the hell out of there.

“Look at you!” Mavis beamed, throwing her arms out like she hadn’t been ready to lock you in the potato cellar just a moment earlier. “My great-niece, the most beautiful girl in the world!”

Nevermind the fact that she called everyone the most beautiful. It was one of the things you loved about her. Sure, she may be old-fashioned in her childhood punishments, but she loved her family wholly.

You inched toward her, biting down on your tongue to keep from gasping at the subtle slide of Ben’s hand to your ass.

Mavis engulfed you in her rose-scented perfume, squeezing you tight enough to juice you like a lemon. Her eyes must have caught onto the tall frame of the man behind you, because, in an instant, she was standing toe-to-toe with him. You blinked.

C’mon, Mav, you thought, silently urging the woman to say something, anything.

On the spectrum of intensity, she was quite tame. If she didn’t like Ben, there was no hope.

“You’re trouble.” Mavis waggled a finger at him, a teasing smirk tilting onto her face.

It wasn’t a hardcore stamp of approval, but it wasn’t a dismissal, either. You took it as a win, letting out the breath you had sucked in the moment you laid eyes on your aunt.

“Only if you’re askin’ for it.” Ben responded, winking.

Oh my God.

You dropped your jaw, heart stuttering as you thought of all the ways Mavis would berate him.

Only, Mavis didn’t look offended.

She let out a hearty laugh, wrapping her arms around Ben’s torso.

“I like you.” She announced, pulling him in tight.

Ben drifted his eyes to you, smirking.

I told you so, they said.

Not my mom, yours responded.

He had won over one aunt, albeit a very influential aunt, but the real work would begin with the others.

With the intent to officially introduce him to her, you opened your mouth. A pang of sweet drifted to your nose, making your eyes flutter shut.

“Cherry rolls?” You breathed out, sighing slightly. It was an unconscious thing, something you had to thank her for Pavloving you into stopping at the first scent of the baked good.

“This one is practically a bloodhound when it comes to dessert.” Mavis tutted, jabbing her thumb at you.

“You made cherry rolls?” You were getting impatient with her teasing.

“Well, yes.” Mavis answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re your favorite.”

It had been years since you had one of Mavis’ cherry rolls. She’d come up with the recipe herself, quickly using it as a tool to get the kids’ energy out on long days. She would send you and your siblings out with baskets, tasking you all with plucking cherries from the trees. It was long work, especially when the three of you could only reach the bottom branches.

The end result?

Heaven.

You would gorge yourself on the sweet if it didn't mean being bloated for the rest of the week.

Once you moved to the city, your opportunities for eating it were, well, zero. You didn’t have the skill to make it, and every family event was missing either you or her. It broke your heart some days, not just because you missed the taste; you missed the memories it brought back.

The fact that Mavis had so obviously made them with you in mind -- though you were sure the other nieces and nephews had begged for them as well -- had tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Aurora sprung up like a weed, you’ll never believe it’s her.” Mavis babbled, grabbing your hand to guide you to the house. You, not wanting to leave behind the reason this get-together was happening, looped your pinkie around Ben’s, dragging him along.

“And Betsy is on this health-kick, but I swear on dear Rufus’ grave,” Rufus the dog, “that she’s swiping cookies from the jar.”

The worn-wood steps of the wrap-around porch creaked a complaint when you three ascended, as they had for as long as you could walk. Every year, Uncle Jerry promised he would find a way to fix them. And every year, he would be passed out on the porch swing, a beer in one hand, a hammer in the other, the steps remaining untouched.

Deep down you hoped they would always make a noise. It was the soundtrack to your dreams; creaking porches, leaves fluttering in the wind, the creek water’s constant flow.

“Oh. My. God.”

You knew the voice without even looking. Your cousin, Evie, who had nudged her way into the aunts’ circle after turning thirty.

Her words triggered the mob, pulling them from their juices and shit talking to swarm your man. They crowded around him like a flock of chickens -- clucked about just like them as well.

“Look at his hair-”

“Nice facial structure-”

“Thought he’d be taller-”

The poking at his arms and chest was when you stepped in, shooing them off. If you were less kind, or if Ben had made another smart-ass remark, you would have left him to the rolls.

He should feel honored, really, that you were choosing to save him instead of diving into the still-steaming plate of rolls on the counter.

“Back off, ladies. He’s mine.” The words were teasing, knowing that these women loved a good piece of eye candy around.

Ben made a show of throwing his arms over two of your aunts, hugging them in close.

“Aww, c’mon, doll,” you swore they all swooned at the pet name, “there’s enough of me to go around.”

“There certainly is.” A voice in the group murmured suggestively, making the others giggle.

You cut a glare over them, trying your best to be intimidating. Everyone in the room knew it didn’t work. Where your siblings were compared to wolves, growing up everyone called you a bunny. Not even a fully-grown rabbit. A bunny, you know, cute and fluffy and unable to scare even a fly away. Yeah, that was you.

Ben watched over your attempts, an amused smile and raised eyebrow making you frown. He chuckled and stepped over to you, pulling you into his arms.

“Aww…” The chorus cooed from behind him.

He bent his neck down to kiss you, lips moving against yours with a stifled passion.

“Aww!” This was practically a squeal. In your mind, you saw your Aunt Hilly pull out her phone, snapping pictures of the scene. She was a self-proclaimed photographer, though her equipment consisted of a beat down iPhone and the occasional flashlight.

“I know my girl doesn’t share,” Ben mumbled to you when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You smiled up at him.

“That is disgusting.”

You spun on your heel to face your little brother, Peter. Not that he was little anymore. The boy -- he’s a year younger than you -- stood taller than you, the same height he had sprung to in middle school seemingly overnight. You scowled at the stupid bunch of hair on his upper lip.

“You’re the one with a caterpillar on your face.” You poked a finger in his face. A noise of surprise came out when he moved to bite at it. There had been a time when he really did bite your finger, leading to an early morning trip to the emergency room for stitches. You still had a little scar running across the knuckle.

“Ladies love this caterpillar, Buggy.”

You frowned at the nickname. Buggy. It made you feel like a little kid again, but you also couldn’t ignore the spark of warmth that came with the familiarity of it all.

“I promise you, they do not. And don’t call me that!”

“They do-,”

“Can you two stop bickering and set the dang table?” Your mother’s voice cut your brother off before he could dig himself deeper into your irritation. It was all in good fun, you would go from yelling in each other’s faces to laughter-filled bike rides in a matter of minutes while growing up.

“Momma!” You ran to her, nearly knocking the older woman over with your hug. You ignored the new wrinkles at her eyes and the peek-through of grey hairs. She wasn’t allowed to get older.

“No makeouts in the kitchen, honey.” It wasn’t the first time she had said it, and you doubted it would be the last -- whoever Lina was spending her time with would learn soon enough.

“We weren’t making out.” You defended, sounding all too much like that teenager that your mother had to drive to college.

A smile crinkled the edges of her eyes again and she smoothed down your hair.

“I love you.” She mumbled. Her eyes flicked behind you, where Ben was being examined by Peter. It was a wordless thing, simply eyes scanning your boyfriend like he was an alien that had been beamed down.

“This is Ben.” You explained, lacing your fingers into his. With all the chaos, you hadn’t noticed his silence.

While he had made his occasional comments, he was more watching it all go down. You bouncing around the place, so happy and free. Your family teasing you with warmth and love in their words.

It was the kind of place he had dreamed of being in as a child -- not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“Mmm, right…,” Your mother hummed, looking him up and down. She knew Soldier Boy -- everyone did -- but she was more interested in knowing how Ben acted, how he treated you.

You could tell her a million times he’s perfect, so nice and she would never believe you. You were too kind -- maybe her fault for raising you to be as such -- and you would let love cloud your judgements.

When you called to say that her favorite supe from her childhood was your new boyfriend, she felt that ache come on. Vought tried their best to cover the scandal Soldier Boy would get into, but as she grew, your mother reflected on both his words and actions, finding them to be less respectful than she had once thought.

“Momma, stop starin’ him down.” You almost whined, stepping further in front of Ben to shield him from her gaze. It didn’t do much -- Ben towered over you.

To make you feel more important, he rested his hands on your shoulder, the one holding your hand never letting go.

“Benjamin-,” your mother started, but you cut her off.

“Ben.”

“You hurt her and you’ll figure out what we hide under those cherry trees.” Your mother hissed lowly, a contradiction to the sweet smile she gave the two of you after them.

You paled.

“I’m keepin’ our girl safe ‘til the end of time, ma’am.” Ben responded. You could hear him holding back a chuckle. You watched her give him a simple nod, like they had come to an agreement, and turn back to whatever task she had pulled herself from.

“She’s joking.” You laughed nervously up at him. I hope, you refrained from adding.

“She’s a spitfire like you, doll.” Ben gave you a chaste kiss. You melted into him.

The onlookers you called family were back to their own stories, chittering coming from all directions. You caught on to a few names and places, noting the tone in which all of them were said.

“Do you like them? Or do I need to redownload Tinder?” You added that last part as a way to mask your anxiety. Ben saw right through it, as he did with most things you did. There wasn’t anything you could get past him, though it worked vice versa.

Ben didn’t know about all the times you sensed his aggression before he even opened his mouth. He didn’t know about the way you would walk an extra block on the way home just to pick up his favorite biscuits because you knew he was having a bad day. He didn’t know because you liked knowing something he didn’t.

“You keep that damned thing gone.” He grumbled, pulling at your hips. You snorted out a laugh, remembering the look on his face when he had stumbled upon a dick pic -- a very unasked for dick pic -- from some guy. It was before you were officially dating, and you hadn’t actually opened the app in months, but that did nothing to stop Ben from reminding you exactly how much of you was his. Spoiler alert, it was all of you, and his actions left the two of you panting and spent.

“They love you. They must be good people.” Ben shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I love them, and I love you, I just want you all to get along.” You sputtered out, playing with the fabric of his shirt under your fingers.

You’d said I love you many times to him, yet it never stopped the bloom of warmth in his stomach.

God, you were turning him into a soft-ass man, pussywhipped beyond belief.

He’d hated it at first, trying to turn you away for who knows how many weeks in the beginning. You’d never stopped coming back, crawling into his lap, and saying the words again and again until you were whimpering them into his ear while he thrust into you. He’d learned to let you care for him, ignore the bubbling hatred for anything lovely in his life.

“I know.” He breathed, soothing you with the familiar gruff of his voice. You curled into him, letting him hold you until your brother yanked at your arm, complaining that he had to do everything and you always get away with not helping.

Dinner skimmed by without much of a problem, aside from Ben’s immediate reaction to your father’s barbecued meats.

“Holy shit.” He had moaned. You were grateful it was somewhat quiet, only catching the attention of the youngest of the cousins at the adult table. The thirteen year old looked at you with wide eyes, a bashful giggle bursting out. You had shushed her and, after some very skillful manipulation -- you had no idea where she had learned how to do it --, you were signed up to bring her dress shopping for her middle school’s fall dance.

Now, you were stuck on dish duty with your sister-in-law, something that was only bearable because you found common ground in complaining about your sister’s odd habits. You were listening to her complain about how your sibling left a full dishwasher without starting it when the boisterous laugh of Ben’s caught your ear.

“She brought home this… guy.” This was your father, who immediately got along with Ben upon meeting him. You tried not to think of things they had in common. You didn’t want to be dating your father.

“He wouldn’t look at us, he kept sticking his hand up her shirt at dinner, and, the worst part, he ate everything with soy sauce. Even Marcie’s,” Marcie was your mom, “mac and cheese.”

Oh God.

He was telling Ben about that horrid boyfriend you had when you were twenty. You, thinking he was the love of your life despite every conversation being about him, brought him home for a family dinner. It was smaller than this whole thing, but still held your immediate family, including your grandfather, who, now, was sitting out on the porch with Ben and your father.

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

You choked on your breath, sending you into a coughing fit. Of course he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. It was the end of the night, you were so close to freedom from your fairly conservative family, yet Ben had to silence the entire house, children and all, with that fucking word.

Everyone stilled, even if they weren’t on the porch, even if they had only caught the ass part.

All eyes pointed in your grandfather’s direction. The old man didn’t take well to swearing, not with the way his parents had raised him. Your father slipped up sometimes, but never so obvious as Ben had. You cringed in preparation for the lecture on why Ben was the worst person alive and why you needed to find a new boyfriend.

You tilted your head to get a better view out of the window just as a smile wrinkled the skin around your grandfather’s eyes. He let out a gravelly laugh, eyes twinkling like Ben was simply an old friend he had lost touch with.

“The biggest.” Your grandfather agreed, raising his glass of whiskey in Ben’s direction before taking a sip.

That was the last blow to your nervous energy, turning that anxiety into mush. You let out a relieved breath. The family went back to their gossiping or bickering or whatever else they had gotten up to.

You rinsed the last dish, leaving it to dry on the towel near the sink before joining the three men on the porch. You silently settled into your favorite seat -- Ben’s lap --, cuddling into his chest while he held you.

It was a good day, all of your family finally becoming familiar with each other.

Ben had thought it before the dinner, but now he knew. This was his family as much as it was yours. He couldn’t imagine a better place to belong to, a better place to raise up a couple of kids, with you by his side.

jensen ackles taglist: @arcannaa @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

soldier boy taglist: @sl33pylilbunny

[graysonfics]

the highly requested part two. part one here.

hotch knows he’s in the dog house. if it isn’t the way you proudly announce you want to share a room with prentiss, it’s definitely the way you ignore him unless it’s about the case.

he’s fucked up. the memory of you entering his office to find him still there even with the clock striking ten, paperwork strewn across the table, flashes through his mind like a nightmare. the disappointed look on your face as you stood there all pretty in the dress you chose just for him, on the anniversary of the night he made you his. now he’s not sure if you want to stay.

the case is done. it was an easy solution, one that the agents should’ve found sooner. but the bad guy is in custody, morgan’s saying something about team drinks, and you look like you want to go home and forget the past week.

“sweetheart,” hotch says lowly, away from the prying eyes of his team. “i know you’re upset and you have every right to be, but please can we talk about this?”

“i really don’t know if i have anything to say.” you sound defeated.

“i made a mistake.” he admits.

“this is more than just a mistake,” you sigh. “we had that dinner planned for months. you promised me you wouldn’t be late. i even put it in your calendar.”

“i know—“

“no, you don’t,” you interrupt, eyes flaring with hurt. “you don’t know what it’s like to be in a relationship with someone who’s married to their work. i love the job too, but you make no time for me outside of it.”

“that isn’t true.” he shakes his head.

“when was the last time we spent time together outside of work?” you pause and when he doesn’t answer, a humourless chuckle falls from your lips. “i see you every day, yet you feel like a stranger.”

morgan calls your name and you turn to look at him, “you guys coming?”

“you go ahead,” hotch answers for the two of you. “i owe (y/n) a dinner.”

you raise your eyebrows, “what are you doing?”

jj smiles from beside morgan, “don’t stay up too late, you two.”

the team leaves and you turn to look at hotch, “i didn’t pack anything to wear to dinner.”

“you look perfect just as you are.”

you both go to dinner. you take note on the way hotch pulls out your chair for you, orders a bottle of your favourite wine for the table, and even cracks a joke or two. you know he’s trying, but your hurt is still evident.

“this is nice,” you tell him. “and i appreciate you doing this, but it doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten about you standing me up. i sat at that table alone for over an hour.”

“i’m an idiot,” hotch replies, hand searching for yours across the table. “and i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

tears blur your vision, but you force them to stay at bay, “you really hurt me, aaron.”

“and it will never happen again. you’re the best part of my life. i’m sorry i made you feel otherwise.”

he soothingly runs his thumb over your knuckles and you find yourself nodding, allowing your heart to open that tiny bit for him.

soon, the two of you call a cab back to the hotel. the elevator ride is quiet, but the silence is comfortable and there’s a hint of tension in the air. the good kind.

hotch walks you back to the room you’re sharing with prentiss, but it’s when he gives you that handsome smile that you know you don’t want to sleep away from him tonight.

“can i come in with you?”

“you never have to ask, honey.”

your hurt eases as soon as hotch has you pressed up against the door of his room, lips searching yours as he makes up for lost time.

when you show up with a mark on your neck the next morning, the team choose to act like they don’t notice. even if their teasing smiles give them away slightly.

but then hotch grabs your hand in front of the team and loves you out loud, so it doesn’t matter. nothing matters when you have all of him.

[mandalhoerian]

Xavier seems like the type of guy who doesn't like his person using toys or vibes because they're not *him*

Gets pouty and jealous if they're even mentioned.

continuation of this ask

You are so big brain, anon. It's so in character of him 😭🙏 is it healthy? no. his partner is allowed private time on their own, they don't owe him their pleasure.

But for the sake of fanfiction, picture this:

You mention, offhandedly, that you bought a toy. Just a passing remark, not even thinking about it. Maybe you were joking. Maybe you wanted to tease him. But Xavier, sitting across from you, rapid-blinks like he always does when you catch him off-guard before his face turns blank. Not cold, not angry. Just… blank.

Then he hums, a little soft sound in the back of his throat, like he's contemplating something so profound it has to be philosophical, or science-related.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you need that when you have me?"

No change in tone, no outward display of irritation — just that completely neutral, sky-blue stare and a perfectly level, soft voice that somehow makes it worse. Like he's genuinely baffled by the concept of you needing anything else. You're utterly unprepared for this talk and don't even think about having it in the first place, so your go-to response is laughing. And when you do, he doesn't let it go. Oh no, Xavier is the king of petty jealousy masked as cold indifference.

The toy starts to go missing.

At first, you think it's a coincidence. A case of forgetfulness. You’re sure you left it in the drawer, right where it always is (since Xavier feels a disturbance in the Force whenever you so much as breathe in its direction and things escalate each time), but when you reach for it — gone.

You tear through your bedside table, lifting books, checking between the sheets, even peeking under the bed, but there’s nothing. Maybe you misplaced it and don't even remember? It was collecting dust, after all. Maybe it fell behind something? But a full sweep of the room turns up nothing, and you’re left standing there, confused, mildly annoyed, and a little suspicious.

It happens again. And again.

Every time you try to find it, it's missing. And yet, mysteriously, whenever you’ve resigned yourself to its absence, it reappears — tucked into your pillowcase, resting perfectly in the middle of the bed as if placed there on purpose, or sitting in the drawer exactly where you swore you had checked before.

It’s eerie. Almost calculated.

And then, one evening, you try again to confirm. You check the drawer. Empty. You inhale sharply, patience hanging by a thread.

“Xavier.”

Silence. But you know he’s home.

You walk into the living room, arms crossed, and there he is, lounging against the couch, book in hand, looking up at you with that barely-there expression of vague curiosity. A little too casual. A little too composed.

You narrow your eyes. “Where is it?”

He blinks once, slow. “Where is what?”

You swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

“You know what.” You plant a hand on your hip, glaring. “My toy keeps going missing.”

Xavier hums, like he's actually thinking about it. “That does sound inconvenient.”

The audacity.

You march over, leaning down to snatch the book from his hands, but before you can, he moves — fast —catching your wrist and pulling you down until you’re practically in his lap, his other hand resting warm and steady against your thigh.

“I suppose,” he muses, tilting his head, voice as light as ever, “you should take better care of your things.”

Your eyes flick fast between his, and you recognize that look. That feather-light amusement. That quiet, infuriating smugness.

“You took it,” you accuse.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He’s still holding you, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. “But if you’re missing something… maybe I can offer a replacement.”

His grip tightens deliberately. Just enough to make his point. Just enough to tell you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And that he isn’t giving it back.

You glare at him, lips parted in an incredulous little gasp. “You—”

But he’s already tilting his head, studying you like you’re some puzzle he’s been waiting to take apart, layers peeling away with each breath. His fingers trace absent patterns along your thigh, as if he’s just idly thinking, and not actively playing with you instead of talking to you about it.

“You seem upset,” he comments, though it lacks any genuine concern. It’s all amusement, low and smooth.

“I am upset,” you shoot back, shifting in his hold, but he doesn’t let go, and worse — his grip tightens. Just enough to remind you that he’s stronger and is keeping you there for a reason. Does he want to have a conversation or else? Probably the latter. Even when he moves slow, there’s no escaping him. “Give it back, Xavier.”

He hums, running a thumb over the inside of your wrist. “What if I don’t?”

You inhale sharply, frustration bubbling over. “Then I’ll buy another one.”

His grip falters.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. A minute shift, his fingers pressing just a little tighter before his whole demeanor changes. You can see the realization flicker like a lightbulb.

He leans in — close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

“That,” he whisper-says, reverent, “would be a waste.”

Your stomach does something weird at the way he says it. Low, almost contemplative, like he’s already made a decision and you’re just catching up.

You blink. “A waste?”

Xavier tilts his head, and then — finally — gives the tiniest of innocent grins. It’s the first real expression he’s given you since this whole thing started, slow and sharp-edged, something just a little too pleased with itself.

“Show me.”

You can visualize the silence that follows being captured by an imaginary camera from multiple angles for comedic effect.

For a moment, you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. But no, he’s watching you, waiting, eyes gleaming with something new. Something curious. The amusement is still there, but now it’s layered with something deeper. A slow-building, simmering interest.

“What?” you breathe, blinking up at him.

“Show me,” he repeats, completely unaffected. Ears beginning to gather color. “Let me use it.”

A rush of heat floods through you so fast it nearly knocks you off balance. This is new territory.

Your lips part, and you stammer, “Excuse me?”

Xavier doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge. Just watches you with that perfectly unreadable expression that only makes things worse.

"You seemed very invested in this thing," he says, brushing his knuckles up your arm like he’s still thinking it over. "So I want to know what makes it so special." A pause. Then, a tilt of his head. "What makes it better than me?"

There it is.

Your heart stutters, and for a long moment, you just stare at him, caught between mortification and something dangerously close to intrigue.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, trying to pull away, but his grip does not let up.

“And you’re stalling,” he counters easily. “Which tells me that you do want to.”

You make a noise — something in the back of your throat that isn’t quite a protest but isn’t quite acceptance either.

Xavier just waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until finally, with your face burning, you mutter, “Fine.”

His fingers flex around your wrist, and then, so very airily, he sighs,

“Good girl.”

And just like that — your toy is no longer missing. But now? It’s in his hands. And that might just be worse.